The Financier a novel by Theodore Dreiser

part? Did she really imagine that she was going to master him—her father, 
and in connection with such an issue as this? How impossible! But 
tempering his voice as much as possible, he went on, quite softly, in fact. 
"But it would be so fine for ye, Aileen. Ye surely can't expect to stay here 
after—" He paused, for he was going to say "what has happened." He knew 
she was very sensitive on that point. His own conduct in hunting her down 
had been such a breach of fatherly courtesy that he knew she felt resentful, 
and in a way properly so. Still, what could be greater than her own crime? 
"After," he concluded, "ye have made such a mistake ye surely wouldn't 
want to stay here. Ye won't be wantin' to keep up that—committin' a mortal 
sin. It's against the laws of God and man." 
He did so hope the thought of sin would come to Aileen—the enormity of her 
crime from a spiritual point of view—but Aileen did not see it at all. 
"You don't understand me, father," she exclaimed, hopelessly toward the 
end. "You can't. I have one idea, and you have another. But I don't seem to 
be able to make you understand now. The fact is, if you want to know it, I 
don't believe in the Catholic Church any more, so there." 
The moment Aileen had said this she wished she had not. It was a slip of the 
tongue. Butler's face took on an inexpressibly sad, despairing look. 
"Ye don't believe in the Church?" he asked. 
"No, not exactly—not like you do." 
He shook his head. 
"The harm that has come to yer soul!" he replied. "It's plain to me, daughter, 
that somethin' terrible has happened to ye. This man has ruined ye, body 

---

and soul. Somethin' must be done. I don't want to be hard on ye, but ye 
must leave Philadelphy. Ye can't stay here. I can't permit ye. Ye can go to 
Europe, or ye can go to yer aunt's in New Orleans; but ye must go 
somewhere. I can't have ye stayin' here—it's too dangerous. It's sure to be 
comin' out. The papers'll be havin' it next. Ye're young yet. Yer life is before 
you. I tremble for yer soul; but so long as ye're young and alive ye may come 
to yer senses. It's me duty to be hard. It's my obligation to you and the 
Church. Ye must quit this life. Ye must lave this man. Ye must never see 
him any more. I can't permit ye. He's no good. He has no intintion of 
marrying ye, and it would be a crime against God and man if he did. No, no! 
Never that! The man's a bankrupt, a scoundrel, a thafe. If ye had him, ye'd 
soon be the unhappiest woman in the world. He wouldn't be faithful to ye. 
No, he couldn't. He's not that kind." He paused, sick to the depths of his 
soul. "Ye must go away. I say it once and for all. I mane it kindly, but I want 
it. I have yer best interests at heart. I love ye; but ye must. I'm sorry to see 
ye go—I'd rather have ye here. No one will be sorrier; but ye must. Ye must 
make it all seem natcheral and ordinary to yer mother; but ye must go—d'ye 
hear? Ye must." 
He paused, looking sadly but firmly at Aileen under his shaggy eyebrows. 
She knew he meant this. It was his most solemn, his most religious 
expression. But she did not answer. She could not. What was the use? Only 
she was not going. She knew that—and so she stood there white and tense. 
"Now get all the clothes ye want," went on Butler, by no means grasping her 
true mood. "Fix yourself up in any way you plase. Say where ye want to go, 
but get ready." 
"But I won't, father," finally replied Aileen, equally solemnly, equally 
determinedly. "I won't go! I won't leave Philadelphia." 
"Ye don't mane to say ye will deliberately disobey me when I'm asking ye to 
do somethin' that's intended for yer own good, will ye daughter?" 
"Yes, I will," replied Aileen, determinedly. "I won't go! I'm sorry, but I won't!" 
"Ye really mane that, do ye?" asked Butler, sadly but grimly. 
"Yes, I do," replied Aileen, grimly, in return. 
"Then I'll have to see what I can do, daughter," replied the old man. "Ye're 
still my daughter, whatever ye are, and I'll not see ye come to wreck and 
ruin for want of doin' what I know to be my solemn duty. I'll give ye a few 
more days to think this over, but go ye must. There's an end of that. There 
are laws in this land still. There are things that can be done to those who 
won't obey the law. I found ye this time—much as it hurt me to do it. I'll find 
ye again if ye try to disobey me. Ye must change yer ways. I can't have ye 
goin' on as ye are. Ye understand now. It's the last word. Give this man up, 

---

and ye can have anything ye choose. Ye're my girl—I'll do everything I can in 
this world to make ye happy. Why, why shouldn't I? What else have I to live 
for but me children? It's ye and the rest of them that I've been workin' and 
plannin' for all these years. Come now, be a good girl. Ye love your old 
father, don't ye? Why, I rocked ye in my arms as a baby, Aileen. I've watched 
over ye when ye were not bigger than what would rest in me two fists here. 
I've been a good father to ye—ye can't deny that. Look at the other girls 
you've seen. Have any of them had more nor what ye have had? Ye won't go 
against me in this. I'm sure ye won't. Ye can't. Ye love me too much—surely 
ye do—don't ye?" His voice weakened. His eyes almost filled. 
He paused and put a big, brown, horny hand on Aileen's arm. She had 
listened to his plea not unmoved—really more or less softened—because of 
the hopelessness of it. She could not give up Cowperwood. Her father just 
did not understand. He did not know what love was. Unquestionably he had 
never loved as she had. 
She stood quite silent while Butler appealed to her. 
"I'd like to, father," she said at last and softly, tenderly. "Really I would. I do 
love you. Yes, I do. I want to please you; but I can't in this—I can't! I love 
Frank Cowperwood. You don't understand—really you don't!" 
At the repetition of Cowperwood's name Butler's mouth hardened. He could 
see that she was infatuated—that his carefully calculated plea had failed. So 
he must think of some other way. 
"Very well, then," he said at last and sadly, oh, so sadly, as Aileen turned 
away. "Have it yer own way, if ye will. Ye must go, though, willy-nilly. It can't 
be any other way. I wish to God it could." 
Aileen went out, very solemn, and Butler went over to his desk and sat 
down. "Such a situation!" he said to himself. "Such a complication!"