"Aileen wouldn't help me--the mean thing!" Aileen had swept on to Cowperwood and his mother, who was near him.

She had removed from her arm the black satin ribbon which held her train and kicked the skirts loose and free.

Her eyes gleamed almost pleadingly for all her hauteur, like a spirited collie's, and her even teeth showed beautifully.
Cowperwood understood her precisely, as he did any fine, spirited animal.
"I can't tell you how nice you look," he whispered to her, familiarly, as though there was an old understanding between them.

"You're like fire and song." He did not know why he said this.

He was not especially poetic.