Theodore Dreiser Jennie Gerhardt; a novel

 
 

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CHAPTER XIX 
The inconclusive nature of this interview, exciting as it was, did not leave 
any doubt in either Lester Kane's or Jennie's mind; certainly this was not 
the end of the affair. Kane knew that he was deeply fascinated. This girl was 
lovely. She was sweeter than he had had any idea of. Her hesitancy, her 
repeated protests, her gentle "no, no, no" moved him as music might. 
Depend upon it, this girl was for him, and he would get her. She was too 
sweet to let go. What did he care about what his family or the world might 
think? 
It was curious that Kane held the well-founded idea that in time Jennie 
would yield to him physically, as she had already done spiritually. Just why 
he could not say. Something about her—a warm womanhood, a guileless 
expression of countenance—intimated a sympathy toward sex relationship 
which had nothing to do with hard, brutal immorality. She was the kind of a 
woman who was made for a man—one man. All her attitude toward sex was 
bound up with love, tenderness, service. When the one man arrived she 
would love him and she would go to him. That was Jennie as Lester 
understood her. He felt it. She would yield to him because he was the one 
man. 
On Jennie's part there was a great sense of complication and of possible 
disaster. If he followed her of course he would learn all. She had not told 
him about Brander, because she was still under the vague illusion that, in 
the end, she might escape. When she left him she knew that he would come 
back. She knew, in spite of herself that she wanted him to do so. Yet she felt 
that she must not yield, she must go on leading her straitened, humdrum 
life. This was her punishment for having made a mistake. She had made her 
bed, and she must lie on it. 
The Kane family mansion at Cincinnati to which Lester returned after 
leaving Jennie was an imposing establishment, which contrasted strangely 
with the Gerhardt home. It was a great, rambling, two-story affair, done 
after the manner of the French chateaux, but in red brick and brownstone. 
It was set down, among flowers and trees, in an almost park-like inclosure, 
and its very stones spoke of a splendid dignity and of a refined luxury. Old 
Archibald Kane, the father, had amassed a tremendous fortune, not by 
grabbing and brow-beating and unfair methods, but by seeing a big need 
and filling it. Early in life he had realized that America was a growing 
country. There was going to be a big demand for vehicles—wagons, 
carriages, drays—and he knew that some one would have to supply them. 
Having founded a small wagon industry, he had built it up into a great 
business; he made good wagons, and he sold them at a good profit. It was 
his theory that most men were honest; he believed that at bottom they 

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wanted honest things, and if you gave them these they would buy of you, 
and come back and buy again and again, until you were an influential and 
rich man. He believed in the measure "heaped full and running over." All 
through his life and now in his old age he enjoyed the respect and approval 
of every one who knew him. "Archibald Kane," you would hear his 
competitors say, "Ah, there is a fine man. Shrewd, but honest. He's a big 
man." 
This man was the father of two sons and three daughters, all healthy, all 
good-looking, all blessed with exceptional minds, but none of them so 
generous and forceful as their long-living and big-hearted sire. Robert, the 
eldest, a man forty years of age, was his father's right-hand man in financial 
matters, having a certain hard incisiveness which fitted him for the 
somewhat sordid details of business life. He was of medium height, of a 
rather spare build, with a high forehead, slightly inclined to baldness, 
bright, liquid-blue eyes, an eagle nose, and thin, firm, even lips. He was a 
man of few words, rather slow to action and of deep thought. He sat close to 
his father as vice-president of the big company which occupied two whole 
blocks in an outlying section of the city. He was a strong man—a coming 
man, as his father well knew. 
Lester, the second boy, was his father's favorite. He was not by any means 
the financier that Robert was, but he had a larger vision of the subtleties 
that underlie life. He was softer, more human, more good-natured about 
everything. And, strangely enough, old Archibald admired and trusted him. 
He knew he had the bigger vision. Perhaps he turned to Robert when it was 
a question of some intricate financial problem, but Lester was the most 
loved as a son. 
Then there was Amy, thirty-two years of age, married, handsome, the 
mother of one child—a boy; Imogene, twenty-eight, also married, but as yet 
without children, and Louise, twenty-five, single, the best-looking of the 
girls, but also the coldest and most critical. She was the most eager of all for 
social distinction, the most vigorous of all in her love of family prestige, the 
most desirous that the Kane family should outshine every other. She was 
proud to think that the family was so well placed socially, and carried 
herself with an air and a hauteur which was sometimes amusing, sometimes 
irritating to Lester! He liked her—in a way she was his favorite sister—but 
he thought she might take herself with a little less seriousness and not do 
the family standing any harm. 
Mrs. Kane, the mother, was a quiet, refined woman, sixty years of age, who, 
having come up from comparative poverty with her husband, cared but little 
for social life. But she loved her children and her husband, and was naively 

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proud of their position and attainments. It was enough for her to shine only 
in their reflected glory. A good woman, a good wife, and a good mother. 
Lester arrived at Cincinnati early in the evening, and drove at once to his 
home. An old Irish servitor met him at the door. 
"Ah, Mr. Lester," he began, joyously, "sure I'm glad to see you back. I'll take 
your coat. Yes, yes, it's been fine weather we're having. Yes, yes, the family's 
all well. Sure your sister Amy is just after leavin' the house with the boy. 
Your mother's up-stairs in her room. Yes, yes." 
Lester smiled cheerily and went up to his mother's room. In this, which was 
done in white and gold and overlooked the garden to the south and east, sat 
Mrs. Kane, a subdued, graceful, quiet woman, with smoothly laid gray hair. 
She looked up when the door opened, laid down the volume that she had 
been reading, and rose to greet him. 
"There you are, Mother," he said, putting his arms around her and kissing 
her. "How are you?" 
"Oh, I'm just about the same, Lester. How have you been?" 
"Fine. I was up with the Bracebridges for a few days again. I had to stop off 
in Cleveland to see Parsons. They all asked after you." 
"How is Minnie?" 
"Just the same. She doesn't change any that I can see. She's just as 
interested in entertaining as she ever was." 
"She's a bright girl," remarked his mother, recalling Mrs. Bracebridge as a 
girl in Cincinnati. "I always liked her. She's so sensible." 
"She hasn't lost any of that, I can tell you," replied Lester significantly. Mrs. 
Kane smiled and went on to speak of various family happenings. Imogene's 
husband was leaving for St. Louis on some errand. Robert's wife was sick 
with a cold. Old Zwingle, the yard watchman at the factory, who had been 
with Mr. Kane for over forty years, had died. Her husband was going to the 
funeral. Lester listened dutifully, albeit a trifle absently. 
Lester, as he walked down the hall, encountered Louise. "Smart" was the 
word for her. She was dressed in a beaded black silk dress, fitting close to 
her form, with a burst of rubies at her throat which contrasted effectively 
with her dark complexion and black hair. Her eyes were black and piercing. 
"Oh, there you are, Lester," she exclaimed. "When did you get in? Be careful 
how you kiss me. I'm going out, and I'm all fixed, even to the powder on my 
nose. Oh, you bear!" Lester had gripped her firmly and kissed her soundly. 
She pushed him away with her strong hands. 

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"I didn't brush much of it off," he said. "You can always dust more on with 
that puff of yours." He passed on to his own room to dress for dinner. 
Dressing for dinner was a custom that had been adopted by the Kane family 
in the last few years. Guests had become so common that in a way it was a 
necessity, and Louise, in particular, made a point of it. To-night Robert was 
coming, and a Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, old friends of his father and mother, 
and so, of course, the meal would be a formal one. Lester knew that his 
father was around somewhere, but he did not trouble to look him up now. 
He was thinking of his last two days in Cleveland and wondering when he 
would see Jennie again.