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The Ordeal of Berenice

           Shewasattheoperawithfriends,andherescortnudgedherarm.

           "HaveyounoticedBox9—theladyinwhitesatinwiththegreenlaceshawl?"

           "Yes."Bereniceraisedherglasses.

           "Mrs.FrankAlgernonCowperwood,thewifeoftheChicagomillionaire.Theyhavejustbuiltthathouseat68thStreet.Hehaspartleaseofnumber9,Ibelieve."

           Berenicealmoststarted,butretainedhercomposure,givingmerelyanindifferentglance.Alittlewhileafter,sheadjustedherglassescarefullyandstudiedMrs.Cowperwood.ShenotedcuriouslythatAileen’shairwassomewhatthecolorofherown—morecarrotyred.Shestudiedhereyes,whichwereslightlyringed,hersmoothcheeksandfullmouth,thickenedsomewhatbydrinkinganddissipation.Aileenwasgood-looking,shethought—handsomeinamaterialway,thoughsomucholderthanherself.WasitmerelyagethatwasalienatingCowperwood,orwasitsomedeep-seatedintellectualdifference?ObviouslyMrs.Cowperwoodwaswelloverforty—afactwhichdidnotgiveBereniceanysenseofsatisfactionorofadvantage.Shereallydidnotcareenough.Itdidoccurtoher,however,thatthiswomanwhomshewasobservinghadprobablygiventhebestyearsofherlifetoCowperwood—thebrilliantyearsofhergirlhood.Andnowhewastiredofher!ThereweresmallcarefullypowderedlinesatthetailsofAileen’seyesandatthecornersofhermouth.Atthesametimesheseemedpreternaturallygay,kittenish,spoiled.

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