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She was so vain that she could scarcely believe that Cowperwood could long be indifferent, and for a while her sentimental interest in Sohlberg's future and unhappiness of soul beclouded her judgment; but she finally began to feel the drift of affairs. The pathos of all this is that it so quickly descends into the realm of the unsatisfactory, the banal, the pseudo intimate.
Already Harold, suspicious and determined to get at the truth, was beginning to question her as to the strangeness of Aileen's attack her probable reason. When Cowperwood was announced, Sohlberg's manner modified somewhat, for whatever his suspicions were, he was not prepared to quarrel with this singular man as yet.
Sohlberg's dainty frock, the endless pleatings of pale silk, the startling charm of the needlework and the ribbons countless, rosetted, small that meant hard work on the part of some one. "How lovely this is," she had commented. "Yes," Rita had replied, airily; "I thought, don't you know, my dressmaker would never get done working on it."
Mrs. Sohlberg felt that this was going to be a wonderful evening. The dinner was at the Park an open-air chicken a la Maryland affair, with waffles and champagne to help out. Aileen, flattered by Sohlberg's gaiety under her spell, was having a delightful time, jesting, toasting, laughing, walking on the grass.
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