Theodore Dreiser Jennie Gerhardt; a novel

 
 

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CHAPTER XLV 
It was while traveling abroad that Lester came across, first at the Carlton in 
London and later at Shepheards in Cairo, the one girl, before Jennie, whom 
it might have been said he truly admired—Letty Pace. He had not seen her 
for a long time, and she had been Mrs. Malcolm Gerald for nearly four years, 
and a charming widow for nearly two years more. Malcolm Gerald had been 
a wealthy man, having amassed a fortune in banking and stock-brokering in 
Cincinnati, and he had left Mrs. Malcolm Gerald very well off. She was the 
mother of one child, a little girl, who was safely in charge of a nurse and 
maid at all times, and she was invariably the picturesque center of a group 
of admirers recruited from every capital of the civilized world. Letty Gerald 
was a talented woman, beautiful, graceful, artistic, a writer of verse, an 
omnivorous reader, a student of art, and a sincere and ardent admirer of 
Lester Kane. 
In her day she had truly loved him, for she had been a wise observer of men 
and affairs, and Lester had always appealed to her as a real man. He was so 
sane, she thought, so calm. He was always intolerant of sham, and she liked 
him for it. He was inclined to wave aside the petty little frivolities of common 
society conversation, and to talk of simple and homely things. Many and 
many a time, in years past, they had deserted a dance to sit out on a 
balcony somewhere, and talk while Lester smoked. He had argued 
philosophy with her, discussed books, described political and social 
conditions in other cities—in a word, he had treated her like a sensible 
human being, and she had hoped and hoped and hoped that he would 
propose to her. More than once she had looked at his big, solid head with its 
short growth of hardy brown hair, and wished that she could stroke it. It 
was a hard blow to her when he finally moved away to Chicago; at that time 
she knew nothing of Jennie, but she felt instinctively that her chance of 
winning him was gone. 
Then Malcolm Gerald, always an ardent admirer, proposed for something 
like the sixty-fifth time, and she took him. She did not love him, but she was 
getting along, and she had to marry some one. He was forty-four when he 
married her, and he lived only four years—just long enough to realize that 
he had married a charming, tolerant, broad-minded woman. Then he died of 
pneumonia and Mrs. Gerald was a rich widow, sympathetic, attractive, 
delightful in her knowledge of the world, and with nothing to do except to 
live and to spend her money. 
She was not inclined to do either indifferently. She had long since had her 
ideal of a man established by Lester. These whipper-snappers of counts, 
earls, lords, barons, whom she met in one social world and another (for her 
friendship and connections had broadened notably with the years), did not 

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interest her a particle. She was terribly weary of the superficial veneer of the 
titled fortune-hunter whom she met abroad. A good judge of character, a 
student of men and manners, a natural reasoner along sociologic and 
psychologic lines, she saw through them and through the civilization which 
they represented. "I could have been happy in a cottage with a man I once 
knew out in Cincinnati," she told one of her titled women friends who had 
been an American before her marriage. "He was the biggest, cleanest, sanest 
fellow. If he had proposed to me I would have married him if I had had to 
work for a living myself." 
"Was he so poor?" asked her friend. 
"Indeed he wasn't. He was comfortably rich, but that did not make any 
difference to me. It was the man I wanted." 
"It would have made a difference in the long run," said the other. 
"You misjudge me," replied Mrs. Gerald. "I waited for him for a number of 
years, and I know." 
Lester had always retained pleasant impressions and kindly memories of 
Letty Pace, or Mrs. Gerald, as she was now. He had been fond of her in a 
way, very fond. Why hadn't he married her? He had asked himself that 
question time and again. She would have made him an ideal wife, his father 
would have been pleased, everybody would have been delighted. Instead he 
had drifted and drifted, and then he had met Jennie; and somehow, after 
that, he did not want her any more. Now after six years of separation he met 
her again. He knew she was married. She was vaguely aware he had had 
some sort of an affair—she had heard that he had subsequently married the 
woman and was living on the South Side. She did not know of the loss of his 
fortune. She ran across him first in the Carlton one June evening. The 
windows were open, and the flowers were blooming everywhere, odorous 
with that sense of new life in the air which runs through the world when 
spring comes back. For the moment she was a little beside herself. 
Something choked in her throat; but she collected herself and extended a 
graceful arm and hand. 
"Why, Lester Kane," she exclaimed. "How do you do! I am so glad. And this is 
Mrs. Kane? Charmed, I'm sure. It seems truly like a breath of spring to see 
you again. I hope you'll excuse me, Mrs. Kane, but I'm delighted to see your 
husband. I'm ashamed to say how many years it is, Lester, since I saw you 
last! I feel quite old when I think of it. Why, Lester, think; it's been all of six 
or seven years! And I've been married and had a child, and poor Mr. Gerald 
has died, and oh, dear, I don't know what all hasn't happened to me." 

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"You don't look it," commented Lester, smiling. He was pleased to see her 
again, for they had been good friends. She liked him still—that was evident, 
and he truly liked her. 
Jennie smiled. She was glad to see this old friend of Lester's. This woman, 
trailing a magnificent yellow lace train over pale, mother-of-pearl satin, her 
round, smooth arms bare to the shoulder, her corsage cut low and a dark 
red rose blowing at her waist, seemed to her the ideal of what a woman 
should be. She liked looking at lovely women quite as much as Lester; she 
enjoyed calling his attention to them, and teasing him, in the mildest way, 
about their charms. "Wouldn't you like to run and talk to her, Lester, 
instead of to me?" she would ask when some particularly striking or 
beautiful woman chanced to attract her attention. Lester would examine her 
choice critically, for he had come to know that her judge of feminine charms 
was excellent. "Oh, I'm pretty well off where I am," he would retort, looking 
into her eyes; or, jestingly, "I'm not as young as I used to be, or I'd get in tow 
of that." 
"Run on," was her comment. "I'll wait for you." 
"What would you do if I really should?" 
"Why, Lester, I wouldn't do anything. You'd come back to me, maybe." 
"Wouldn't you care?" 
"You know I'd care. But if you felt that you wanted to, I wouldn't try to stop 
you. I wouldn't expect to be all in all to one man, unless he wanted me to 
be." 
"Where do you get those ideas, Jennie?" he asked her once, curious to test 
the breadth of her philosophy. 
"Oh, I don't know, why?" 
"They're so broad, so good-natured, so charitable. They're not common, 
that's sure." 
"Why, I don't think we ought to be selfish, Lester. I don't know why. Some 
women think differently, I know, but a man and a woman ought to want to 
live together, or they ought not to—don't you think? It doesn't make so 
much difference if a man goes off for a little while—just so long as he doesn't 
stay—if he wants to come back at all." 
Lester smiled, but he respected her for the sweetness of her point of view—
he had to. 
To-night, when she saw this woman so eager to talk to Lester, she realized 
at once that they must have a great deal in common to talk over; whereupon 

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she did a characteristic thing. "Won't you excuse me for a little while?" she 
asked, smiling. "I left some things uncared for in our rooms. I'll be back." 
She went away, remaining in her room as long as she reasonably could, and 
Lester and Letty fell to discussing old times in earnest. He recounted as 
much of his experiences as he deemed wise, and Letty brought the history of 
her life up to date. "Now that you're safely married, Lester," she said 
daringly, "I'll confess to you that you were the one man I always wanted to 
have propose to me—and you never did." 
"Maybe I never dared," he said, gazing into her superb black eyes, and 
thinking that perhaps she might know that he was not married. He felt that 
she had grown more beautiful in every way. She seemed to him now to be an 
ideal society figure-perfection itself—gracious, natural, witty, the type of 
woman who mixes and mingles well, meeting each new-comer upon the 
plane best suited to him or her. 
"Yes, you thought! I know what you thought. Your real thought just left the 
table." 
"Tut, tut, my dear. Not so fast. You don't know what I thought." 
"Anyhow, I allow you some credit. She's charming." 
"Jennie has her good points," he replied simply. 
"And are you happy?" 
"Oh, fairly so. Yes, I suppose I'm happy—as happy as any one can be who 
sees life as it is. You know I'm not troubled with many illusions." 
"Not any, I think, kind sir, if I know you." 
"Very likely, not any, Letty; but sometimes I wish I had a few. I think I would 
be happier." 
"And I, too, Lester. Really, I look on my life as a kind of failure, you know, in 
spite of the fact that I'm almost as rich as Croesus—not quite. I think he 
had some more than I have." 
"What talk from you—you, with your beauty and talent, and money—good 
heavens!" 
"And what can I do with it? Travel, talk, shoo away silly fortune-hunters. 
Oh, dear, sometimes I get so tired!" 
Letty looked at Lester. In spite of Jennie, the old feeling came back. Why 
should she have been cheated of him? They were as comfortable together as 
old married people, or young lovers. Jennie had had no better claim. She 
looked at him, and her eyes fairly spoke. He smiled a little sadly. 

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"Here comes my wife," he said. "We'll have to brace up and talk of other 
things. You'll find her interesting—really." 
"Yes, I know," she replied, and turned on Jennie a radiant smile. 
Jennie felt a faint sense of misgiving. She thought vaguely that this might be 
one of Lester's old flames. This was the kind of woman he should have 
chosen—not her. She was suited to his station in life, and he would have 
been as happy—perhaps happier. Was he beginning to realize it? Then she 
put away the uncomfortable thought; pretty soon she would be getting 
jealous, and that would be contemptible. 
Mrs. Gerald continued to be most agreeable in her attitude toward the 
Kanes. She invited them the next day to join her on a drive through Rotten 
Row. There was a dinner later at Claridge's, and then she was compelled to 
keep some engagement which was taking her to Paris. She bade them both 
an affectionate farewell, and hoped that they would soon meet again. She 
was envious, in a sad way, of Jennie's good fortune. Lester had lost none of 
his charm for her. If anything, he seemed nicer, more considerate, more 
wholesome. She wished sincerely that he were free. And Lester—
subconsciously perhaps—was thinking the same thing. 
No doubt because of the fact that she was thinking of it, he had been led 
over mentally all of the things which might have happened if he had married 
her. They were so congenial now, philosophically, artistically, practically. 
There was a natural flow of conversation between them all the time, like two 
old comrades among men. She knew everybody in his social sphere, which 
was equally hers, but Jennie did not. They could talk of certain subtle 
characteristics of life in a way which was not possible between him and 
Jennie, for the latter did not have the vocabulary. Her ideas did not flow as 
fast as those of Mrs. Gerald. Jennie had actually the deeper, more 
comprehensive, sympathetic, and emotional note in her nature, but she 
could not show it in light conversation. Actually she was living the thing she 
was, and that was perhaps the thing which drew Lester to her. Just now, 
and often in situations of this kind, she seemed at a disadvantage, and she 
was. It seemed to Lester for the time being as if Mrs. Gerald would perhaps 
have been a better choice after all—certainly as good, and he would not now 
have this distressing thought as to his future. 
They did not see Mrs. Gerald again until they reached Cairo. In the gardens 
about the hotel they suddenly encountered her, or rather Lester did, for he 
was alone at the time, strolling and smoking. 
"Well, this is good luck," he exclaimed. "Where do you come from?" 
"Madrid, if you please. I didn't know I was coming until last Thursday. The 
Ellicotts are here. I came over with them. You know I wondered where you 

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might be. Then I remembered that you said you were going to Egypt. Where 
is your wife?" 
"In her bath, I fancy, at this moment. This warm weather makes Jennie take 
to water. I was thinking of a plunge myself." 
They strolled about for a time. Letty was in light blue silk, with a blue and 
white parasol held daintily over her shoulder, and looked very pretty. "Oh, 
dear!" she suddenly ejaculated, "I wonder sometimes what I am to do with 
myself. I can't loaf always this way. I think I'll go back to the States to live." 
"Why don't you?" 
"What good would it do me? I don't want to get married. I haven't any one to 
marry now—that I want." She glanced at Lester significantly, then looked 
away. 
"Oh, you'll find some one eventually," he said, somewhat awkwardly. "You 
can't escape for long—not with your looks and money." 
"Oh, Lester, hush!" 
"All right! Have it otherwise, if you want. I'm telling you." 
"Do you still dance?" she inquired lightly, thinking of a ball which was to be 
given at the hotel that evening. He had danced so well a few years before. 
"Do I look it?" 
"Now, Lester, you don't mean to say that you have gone and abandoned that 
last charming art. I still love to dance. Doesn't Mrs. Kane?" 
"No, she doesn't care to. At least she hasn't taken it up. Come to think of it, 
I suppose that is my fault. I haven't thought of dancing in some time." 
It occurred to him that he hadn't been going to functions of any kind much 
for some time. The opposition his entanglement had generated had put a 
stop to that. 
"Come and dance with me to-night. Your wife won't object. It's a splendid 
floor. I saw it this morning." 
"I'll have to think about that," replied Lester. "I'm not much in practice. 
Dancing will probably go hard with me at my time of life." 
"Oh, hush, Lester," replied Mrs. Gerald. "You make me feel old. Don't talk so 
sedately. Mercy alive, you'd think you were an old man!" 
"I am in experience, my dear." 
"Pshaw, that simply makes us more attractive," replied his old flame.