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CHAPTER XXX
The sullen, philosophic Lester was not so determined upon his future course
of action as he appeared to be. Stern as was his mood, he did not see, after
all, exactly what grounds he had for complaint. And yet the child's existence
complicated matters considerably. He did not like to see the evidence of
Jennie's previous misdeeds walking about in the shape of a human being;
but, as a matter of fact, he admitted to himself that long ago he might have
forced Jennie's story out of her if he had gone about it in earnest. She would
not have lied, he knew that. At the very outset he might have demanded the
history of her past. He had not done so; well, now it was too late. The one
thing it did fix in his mind was that it would be useless to ever think of
marrying her. It couldn't be done, not by a man in his position. The best
solution of the problem was to make reasonable provision for Jennie and
then leave her. He went to his hotel with his mind made up, but he did not
actually say to himself that he would do it at once.
It is an easy thing for a man to theorize in a situation of this kind, quite
another to act. Our comforts, appetites and passions grow with usage, and
Jennie was not only a comfort, but an appetite, with him. Almost four years
of constant association had taught him so much about her and himself that
he was not prepared to let go easily or quickly. It was too much of a wrench.
He could think of it bustling about the work of a great organization during
the daytime, but when night came it was a different matter. He could be
lonely, too, he discovered much to his surprise, and it disturbed him.
One of the things that interested him in this situation was Jennie's early
theory that the intermingling of Vesta with him and her in this new
relationship would injure the child. Just how did she come by that feeling,
he wanted to know? His place in the world was better than hers, yet it
dawned on him after a time that there might have been something in her
point of view. She did not know who he was or what he would do with her.
He might leave her shortly. Being uncertain, she wished to protect her baby.
That wasn't so bad. Then again, he was curious to know what the child was
like. The daughter of a man like Senator Brander might be somewhat of an
infant. He was a brilliant man and Jennie was a charming woman. He
thought of this, and, while it irritated him, it aroused his curiosity. He ought
to go back and see the child—he was really entitled to a view of it—but he
hesitated because of his own attitude in the beginning. It seemed to him
that he really ought to quit, and here he was parleying with himself.
The truth was that he couldn't. These years of living with Jennie had made
him curiously dependent upon her. Who had ever been so close to him
before? His mother loved him, but her attitude toward him had not so much
to do with real love as with ambition. His father—well, his father was a man,
like himself. All of his sisters were distinctly wrapped up in their own affairs;
Robert and he were temperamentally uncongenial. With Jennie he had really
been happy, he had truly lived. She was necessary to him; the longer he
stayed away from her the more he wanted her. He finally decided to have a
straight-out talk with her, to arrive at some sort of understanding. She
ought to get the child and take care of it. She must understand that he
might eventually want to quit. She ought to be made to feel that a definite
change had taken place, though no immediate break might occur. That
same evening he went out to the apartment. Jennie heard him enter, and
her heart began to flutter. Then she took her courage in both hands, and
went to meet him.
"There's just one thing to be done about this as far as I can see," began
Lester, with characteristic directness.
"Get the child and bring her here where you can take care of her. There's no
use leaving her in the hands of strangers."
"I will, Lester," said Jennie submissively. "I always wanted to."
"Very well, then, you'd better do it at once." He took an evening newspaper
out of his pocket and strolled toward one of the front windows; then he
turned to her. "You and I might as well understand each other, Jennie," he
went on. "I can see how this thing came about. It was a piece of foolishness
on my part not to have asked you before, and made you tell me. It was silly
for you to conceal it, even if you didn't want the child's life mixed with mine.
You might have known that it couldn't be done. That's neither here nor
there, though, now. The thing that I want to point out is that one can't live
and hold a relationship such as ours without confidence. You and I had
that, I thought. I don't see my way clear to ever hold more than a tentative
relationship with you on this basis. The thing is too tangled. There's too
much cause for scandal."
"I know," said Jennie.
"Now, I don't propose to do anything hasty. For my part I don't see why
things can't go on about as they are—certainly for the present—but I want
you to look the facts in the face."
Jennie sighed. "I know, Lester," she said, "I know."
He went to the window and stared out. There were some trees in the yard,
where the darkness was settling. He wondered how this would really come
out, for he liked a home atmosphere. Should he leave the apartment and go
to his club?
"You'd better get the dinner," he suggested, after a time, turning toward her
irritably; but he did not feel so distant as he looked. It was a shame that life
could not be more decently organized. He strolled back to his lounge, and
Jennie went about her duties. She was thinking of Vesta, of her ungrateful
attitude toward Lester, of his final decision never to marry her. So that was
how one dream had been wrecked by folly.
She spread the table, lighted the pretty silver candles, made his favorite
biscuit, put a small leg of lamb in the oven to roast, and washed some
lettuce-leaves for a salad. She had been a diligent student of a cook-book for
some time, and she had learned a good deal from her mother. All the time
she was wondering how the situation would work out. He would leave her
eventually—no doubt of that. He would go away and marry some one else.
"Oh, well," she thought finally, "he is not going to leave me right away—that
is something. And I can bring Vesta here." She sighed as she carried the
things to the table. If life would only give her Lester and Vesta together—but
that hope was over.
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