marked resemblance. There was a singing thrush, guarded carefully
against a roving desire for bird-food on the part of Jimmy Woods, and a
jar of goldfish. So this little household drifted along quietly and dreamily indeed, but always with the undercurrent of feeling which ran so still
because it was so deep.
There was no word from Lester for the first few weeks following his
departure; he was too busy following up the threads of his new
commercial connections and too considerate to wish to keep Jennie in a
state of mental turmoil over communications which, under the present
circumstances, could mean nothing. He preferred to let matters rest for
the time being; then a little later he would write her sanely and calmly of how things were going. He did this after the silence of a month, saying
that he had been pretty well pressed by commercial affairs, that he had
been in and out of the city frequently (which was the truth), and that he would probably be away from Chicago a large part of the time in the
future. He inquired after Vesta and the condition of affairs generally at Sandwood. "I may get up there one of these days," he suggested, but he really did not mean to come, and Jennie knew that he did not.
Another month passed, and then there was a second letter from him, not
so long as the first one. Jennie had written him frankly and fully, telling him just how things stood with her. She concealed entirely her own
feelings in the matter, saying that she liked the life very much, and that she was glad to be at Sandwood. She expressed the hope that now
everything was coming out for the best for him, and tried to show him
that she was really glad matters had been settled. "You mustn't think of me as being unhappy," she said in one place, "for I'm not. I am sure it ought to be just as it is, and I wouldn't be happy if it were any other way.
Lay out your life so as to give yourself the greatest happiness, Lester,"
she added. "You deserve it. Whatever you do will be just right for me. I won't mind." She had Mrs. Gerald in mind, and he suspected as much, but he felt that her generosity must be tinged greatly with self-sacrifice and secret unhappiness. It was the one thing which made him hesitate about
taking that final step.
The written word and the hidden thought—how they conflict! After six
months the correspondence was more or less perfunctory on his part, and
at eight it had ceased temporarily.
One morning, as she was glancing over the daily paper, she saw among
the society notes the following item:
The engagement of Mrs. Malcolm Gerald of 4044 Drexel Boulevard, to
Lester Kane, second son of the late Archibald Kane, of Cincinnati, was
formally announced at a party given by the prospective bride on Tuesday
to a circle of her immediate friends. The wedding will take place in April.
The paper fell from her hands. For a few minutes she sat perfectly still, looking straight ahead of her. Could this thing be so? she asked herself.
Had it really come at last? She had known that it must come, and yet—
and yet she had always hoped that it would not. Why had she hoped? Had
not she herself sent him away? Had not she herself suggested this very
thing in a roundabout way? It had come now. What must she do? Stay
here as a pensioner? The idea was objectionable to her. And yet he had set aside a goodly sum to be hers absolutely. In the hands of a trust company in La Salle Street were railway certificates aggregating seventy-five
thousand dollars, which yielded four thousand five hundred annually, the
income being paid to her direct. Could she refuse to receive this money?
There was Vesta to be considered.
Jennie felt hurt through and through by this denouement, and yet as she
sat there she realised that it was foolish to be angry. Life was always
doing this sort of a thing to her. It would go on doing so. She was sure of it. If she went out in the world and earned her own living what difference would it make to him? What difference would it make to Mrs. Gerald?
Here she was walled in this little place, leading an obscure existence, and there was he out in the great world enjoying life in its fullest and freest sense. It was too bad. But why cry? Why?
Her eyes indeed were dry, but her very soul seemed to be torn in pieces
within her. She rose carefully, hid the newspaper at the bottom of a trunk, and turned the key upon it.
CHAPTER LVIII
Now that his engagement to Mrs. Gerald was an accomplished fact,
Lester found no particular difficulty in reconciling himself to the new
order of things; undoubtedly it was all for the best. He was sorry for
Jennie—very sorry. So was Mrs. Gerald; but there was a practical
unguent to her grief in the thought that it was best for both Lester and the girl. He would be happier—was so now. And Jennie would eventually
realise that she had done a wise and kindly thing; she would be glad in
the consciousness that she had acted so unselfishly. As for Mrs. Gerald,
because of her indifference to the late Malcolm Gerald, and because she
was realising the dreams of her youth in getting Lester at last—even
though a little late— she was intensely happy. She could think of nothing finer than this daily life with him—the places they would go, the things
they would see. Her first season in Chicago as Mrs. Lester Kane the
following winter was going to be something worth remembering. And as
for Japan—that was almost too good to be true.
Lester wrote to Jennie of his coming marriage to Mrs. Gerald. He said
that he had no explanation to make. It wouldn't be worth anything if he
did make it. He thought he ought to marry Mrs. Gerald. He thought he
ought to let her (Jennie) know. He hoped she was well. He wanted her
always to feel that he had her real interests at heart. He would do
anything in his power to make life as pleasant and agreeable for her as
possible. He hoped she would forgive him. And would she remember him
affectionately to Vesta? She ought to be sent to a finishing school.
Jennie understood the situation perfectly. She knew that Lester had been
drawn to Mrs. Gerald from the time he met her at the Carlton in London.
She had been angling for him. Now she had him. It was all right. She
hoped he would be happy. She was glad to write and tell him so,
explaining that she had seen the announcement in the papers. Lester read
her letter thoughtfully; there was more between the lines than the written words conveyed. Her fortitude was a charm to him even in this hour. In
spite of all he had done and what he was now going to do, he realised that he still cared for Jennie in a way. She was a noble and a charming
woman. If everything else had been all right he would not be going to
marry Mrs. Gerald at all. And yet he did marry her.
The ceremony was performed on April fifteenth, at the residence of Mrs.
Gerald, a Roman Catholic priest officiating. Lester was a poor example of the faith he occasionally professed. He was an agnostic, but because he
had been reared in the church he felt that he might as well be married in it. Some fifty guests, intimate friends, had been invited. The ceremony
went off with perfect smoothness. There were jubilant congratulations