For the time being the affairs of the Gerhardt family drifted. Jennie continued her work with Mrs. Bracebridge. Sebastian fixed himself firmly in his clerkship in the cigar store. George was promoted to the noble sum of three dollars, and then three-fifty. It was a narrow, humdrum life the family led. Coal, groceries, shoes, and clothing were the uppermost topics of their conversation; every one felt the stress and strain of trying to make ends meet.
That which worried Jennie most, and there were many things which weighed upon her sensitive soul, was the outcome of her own life — not so much for herself as for her baby and the family. She could not really see where she fitted in. “Who would have me?” she asked herself over and over. “How was she to dispose of Vesta in the event of a new love affair?” Such a contingency was quite possible. She was young, good-looking, and men were inclined to flirt with her, or rather to attempt it. The Bracebridges entertained many masculine guests, and some of them had made unpleasant overtures to her.
“My dear, you’re a very pretty girl,” said one old rake of fifty-odd when she knocked at his door one morning to give him a message from his hostess.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, confusedly, and coloured.
“Indeed, you’re quite sweet. And you needn’t beg my pardon. I’d like to talk to you some time.”
He attempted to chuck her under the chin, but Jennie hurried away. She would have reported the matter to her mistress but a nervous shame deterred her. “Why would men always be doing this?” she thought. Could it be because there was something innately bad about her, an inward corruption that attracted its like?
It is a curious characteristic of the non-defensive disposition that it is like a honey-jar to flies. Nothing is brought to it and much is taken away. Around a soft, yielding, unselfish disposition men swarm naturally. They sense this generosity, this non-protective attitude from afar. A girl like Jennie is like a comfortable fire to the average masculine mind; they gravitate to it, seek its sympathy, yearn to possess it. Hence she was annoyed by many unwelcome attentions.
One day there arrived from Cincinnati a certain Lester Kane, the son of a wholesale carriage builder of great trade distinction in that city and elsewhere throughout the country, who was wont to visit this house frequently in a social way. He was a friend of Mrs. Bracebridge more than of her husband, for the former had been raised in Cincinnati and as a girl had visited at his father’s house. She knew his mother, his brother and sisters and to all intents and purposes socially had always been considered one of the family.
“Lester’s coming tomorrow, Henry,” Jennie heard Mrs. Bracebridge tell her husband. “I had a wire from him this noon. He’s such a scamp. I’m going to give him the big east front room upstairs. Be sociable and pay him some attention. His father was so good to me.”
“I know it,” said her husband calmly. “I like Lester. He’s the biggest one in that family. But he’s too indifferent. He doesn’t care enough.”
“I know, but he’s so nice. I do think he’s one of the nicest men I ever knew.”
“I’ll be decent to him. Don’t I always do pretty well by your people?”
“Yes, pretty well.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he replied dryly.
When this notable person arrived Jennie was prepared to see some one of more than ordinary importance, and she was not disappointed. There came into the reception-hall to greet her mistress a man of perhaps thirty-six years of age, above the medium in height, clear-eyed, firm-jawed, athletic, direct, and vigorous. He had a deep, resonant voice that carried clearly everywhere; people somehow used to stop and listen whether they knew him or not. He was simple and abrupt in his speech.
“Oh, there you are,” he began. “I’m glad to see you again. How’s Mr. Bracebridge? How’s Fannie?”
He asked his questions forcefully, whole-heartedly, and his hostess answered with an equal warmth. “I’m glad to see you, Lester,” she said. “George will take your things upstairs. Come up into my room. It’s more comfy. How are grandpa and Louise?”
He followed her up the stairs, and Jennie, who had been standing at the head of the stairs listening, felt the magnetic charm of his personality. It seemed, why she could hardly say, that a real personage had arrived. The house was cheerier. The attitude of her mistress was much more complaisant. Everybody seemed to feel that something must be done for this man.
Jennie went about her work, but the impression persisted; his name ran in her mind. Lester Kane. And he was from Cincinnati. She looked at him now and then on the sly, and felt, for the first time in her life, an interest in a man on his own account. He was so big, so handsome, so forceful. She wondered what his business was. At the same time she felt a little dread of him. Once she caught him looking at her with a steady, incisive stare. She quailed inwardly, and took the first opportunity to get out of his presence. Another time he tried to address a few remarks to her, but she pretended that her duties called her away. She knew that often his eyes were on her when her back was turned, and it made her nervous. She wanted to run away from him, although there was no very definite reason why she should do so.
As a matter of fact, this man, so superior to Jennie in wealth, education, and social position, felt an instinctive interest in her unusual personality. Like the others, he was attracted by the peculiar softness of her disposition and her pre-eminent femininity. There was that about her which suggested the luxury of love. He felt as if somehow she could be reached — why, he could not have said. She did not bear any outward marks of her previous experience. There were no evidences of coquetry about her, but still he “felt that he might.” He was inclined to make the venture on his first visit, but business called him away; he left after four days and was absent from Cleveland for three weeks. Jennie thought he was gone for good, and she experienced a queer sense of relief as well as of regret. Then, suddenly, he returned. He came apparently unexpectedly, explaining to Mrs. Bracebridge that business interests again demanded his presence in Cleveland. As he spoke he looked at Jennie sharply, and she felt as if somehow his presence might also concern her a little.
On this second visit she had various opportunities of seeing him, at breakfast, where she sometimes served, at dinner, when she could see the guests at the table from the parlour or sitting-room, and at odd times when he came to Mrs. Bracebridge’s boudoir to talk things over. They were very friendly.
“Why don’t you settle down, Lester, and get married?” Jennie heard her say to him the second day he was there. “You know it’s time.”
“I know,” he replied, “but I’m in no mood for that. I want to browse around a little while yet.”
“Yes, I know about your browsing. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Your father is really worried.”
He chuckled amusedly. “Father doesn’t worry much about me. He has got all he can attend to to look after the business.”
Jennie looked at him curiously. She scarcely understood what she was thinking, but this man drew her. If she had realised in what way she would have fled his presence then and there.
Now he was more insistent in his observation of her — addressed an occasional remark to her — engaged her in brief, magnetic conversations. She could not help answering him — he was pleasing to her. Once he came across her in the hall on the second floor searching in a locker for some linen. They were all alone, Mrs. Bracebridge having gone out to do some morning shopping and the other servants being below stairs. On this occasion he made short work of the business. He approached her in a commanding, unhesitating, and thoroughly determined way.
“I want to talk to you,” he said. “Where do you live?”
“I— I—” she stammered, and blanched perceptibly. “I live out on Lorrie Street.”
“What number?” he questioned, as though she were compelled to tell him.
She quailed and shook inwardly. “Thirteen fourteen,” she replied mechanically.
He looked into her big, soft-blue eyes with his dark, vigorous brown ones. A flash that was hypnotic, significant, insistent passed between them.
“You belong to me,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you. When can I see you?”
“Oh, you mustn’t,” she said, her fingers going nervously to her lips. “I can’t see you — I— I—”
“Oh, I mustn’t, mustn’t I? Look here”— he took her arm and drew her slightly closer —“you and I might as well understand each other right now. I like you. Do you like me? Say?”
She looked at him, her eyes wide, filled with wonder, with fear, with a growing terror.
“I don’t know,” she gasped, her lips dry.
“Do you?” He fixed her grimly, firmly with his eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“Look at me,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied.
He pulled her to him quickly. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said, and put his lips masterfully to hers.
She was horrified, stunned, like a bird in the grasp of a cat; but through it all something tremendously vital and insistent was speaking to her. He released her with a short laugh. “We won’t do any more of this here, but, remember, you belong to me,” he said, as he turned and walked nonchalantly down the hall. Jennie, in sheer panic, ran to her mistress’s room and locked the door behind her.
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