Matters might have gone on smoothly enough were it not for the fact that Lester’s private life with Jennie was not a matter which could be permanently kept under cover. At times he was seen driving with her by people who knew him in a social and commercial way. He was for brazening it out on the ground that he was a single man, and at liberty to associate with anybody he pleased. Jennie might be any young woman of good family in whom he was interested. He did not propose to introduce her to anybody if he could help it, and he always made it a point to be a fast traveller in driving, in order that others might not attempt to detain and talk to him. At the theatre, as has been said, she was simply “Miss Gerhardt.”
The trouble was that many of his friends were also keen observers of life. They had no quarrel to pick with Lester’s conduct. Only he had been seen in other cities, in times past, with this same woman. She must be some one whom he was maintaining irregularly. Well, what of it? Wealth and youthful spirits must have their fling. Rumours came to Robert, who, however, kept his own counsel. If Lester wanted to do this sort of thing, well and good. But there must come a time when there would be a show-down.
This came about in one form about a year and a half after Lester and Jennie had been living in the north side apartment. It so happened that, during a stretch of inclement weather in the fall, Lester was seized with a mild form of grip. When he felt the first symptoms he thought that his indisposition would be a matter of short duration, and tried to overcome it by taking a hot bath and a liberal dose of quinine. But the infection was stronger than he counted on; by morning he was flat on his back, with a severe fever and a splitting headache.
His long period of association with Jennie had made him incautious. Policy would have dictated that he should betake himself to his hotel and endure his sickness alone. As a matter of fact, he was very glad to be in the house with her. He had to call up the office to say that he was indisposed and would not be down for a day or so; then he yielded himself comfortably to her patient ministrations.
Jennie, of course, was delighted to have Lester with her, sick or well. She persuaded him to see a doctor and have him prescribe. She brought him potions of hot lemonade, and bathed his face and hands in cold water over and over. Later, when he was recovering, she made him appetising cups of beef-tea or gruel.
It was during this illness that the first real contretemps occurred. Lester’s sister Louise, who had been visiting friends in St. Paul, and who had written him that she might stop off to see him on her way, decided upon an earlier return than she had originally planned. While Lester was sick at his apartment she arrived in Chicago. Calling up the office, and finding that he was not there and would not be down for several days, she asked where he could be reached.
“I think he is at his rooms in the Grand Pacific,” said an incautious secretary. “He’s not feeling well.” Louise, a little disturbed, telephoned to the Grand Pacific, and was told that Mr. Kane had not been there for several days — did not, as a matter of fact, occupy his rooms more than one or two days a week. Piqued by this, she telephoned his club.
It so happened that at the club there was a telephone boy who had called up the apartment a number of times for Lester himself. He had not been cautioned not to give its number — as a matter of fact, it had never been asked for by any one else. When Louise stated that she was Lester’s sister, and was anxious to find him, the boy replied, “I think he lives at 19, Schiller Place.”
“Whose address is that you’re giving?” inquired a passing clerk.
“Mr. Kane’s.”
“Well, don’t be giving out addresses. Don’t you know that yet?”
The boy apologised, but Louise had hung up the receiver and was gone.
About an hour later, curious as to this third residence of her brother, Louise arrived at Schiller Place. Ascending the steps — it was a two-apartment house — she saw the name of Kane on the door leading to the second floor. Ringing the bell, she was opened to by Jennie, who was surprised to see so fashionably attired a young woman.
“This is Mr. Kane’s apartment, I believe,” began Louise, condescendingly, as she looked in at the open door behind Jennie. She was a little surprised to meet a young woman, but her suspicions were as yet only vaguely aroused.
“Yes,” replied Jennie.
“He’s sick, I believe. I’m his sister. May I come in?”
Jennie, had she had time to collect her thoughts, would have tried to make some excuse, but Louise, with the audacity of her birth and station, swept past before Jennie could say a word. Once inside Louise looked about her inquiringly. She found herself in the sitting-room, which gave into the bedroom where Lester was lying. Vesta happened to be playing in one corner of the room, and stood up to eye the new-comer. The open bedroom showed Lester quite plainly lying in bed, a window to the left of him, his eyes closed.
“Oh, there you are, old fellow!” exclaimed Louise. “What’s ailing you?” she hurried on.
Lester, who at the sound of her voice had opened his eyes, realised in an instant how things were. He pulled himself up on one elbow, but words failed him.
“Why, hello, Louise,” he finally forced himself to say, “Where did you come from?”
“St. Paul. I came back sooner than I thought,” she answered lamely, a sense of something wrong irritating her. “I had a hard time finding you, too. Who’s your —” she was about to say “pretty housekeeper,” but turned to find Jennie dazedly gathering up certain articles in the adjoining room and looking dreadfully distraught.
Lester cleared his throat hopelessly.
His sister swept the place with an observing eye. It took in the home atmosphere, which was both pleasing and suggestive. There was a dress of Jennie’s lying across a chair, in a familiar way, which caused Miss Kane to draw herself up warily. She looked at her brother, who had a rather curious expression in his eyes — he seemed slightly nonplussed, but cool and defiant.
“You shouldn’t have come out here,” said Lester finally, before Louise could give vent to the rising question in her mind.
“Why shouldn’t I?” she exclaimed, angered at the brazen confession. “You’re my brother, aren’t you? Why should you have any place that I couldn’t come. Well, I like that — and from you to me.”
“Listen, Louise,” went on Lester, drawing himself up further on one elbow. “You know as much about life as I do. There is no need of our getting into an argument. I didn’t know you were coming, or I would have made other arrangements.”
“Other arrangements, indeed,” she sneered. “I should think as much. The idea!”
She was greatly irritated to think that she had fallen into this trap; it was really disgraceful of Lester.
“I wouldn’t be so haughty about it,” he declared, his colour rising. “I’m not apologising to you for my conduct. I’m saying I would have made other arrangements, which is a very different thing from begging your pardon. If you don’t want to be civil, you needn’t.”
“Why, Lester Kane!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flaming. “I thought better of you, honestly I did. I should think you would be ashamed of yourself living here in open —” she paused without using the word —“and our friends scattered all over the city. It’s terrible! I thought you had more sense of decency and consideration.”
“Decency nothing,” he flared. “I tell you I’m not apologising to you. If you don’t like this you know what you can do.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “This from my own brother! And for the sake of that creature! Whose child is that?” she demanded, savagely and yet curiously.
“Never mind, it’s not mine. If it were it wouldn’t make any difference. I wish you wouldn’t busy yourself about my affairs.”
Jennie, who had been moving about the dining-room beyond the sitting-room, heard the cutting references to herself. She winced with pain.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I won’t any more,” retorted Louise. “I should think, though, that you, of all men, would be above anything like this — and that with a woman so obviously beneath you. Why, I thought she was —” she was again going to add “your housekeeper,” but she was interrupted by Lester, who was angry to the point of brutality.
“Never mind what you thought she was,” he growled. “She’s better than some who do the so-called superior thinking. I know what you think. It’s neither here nor there, I tell you. I’m doing this, and I don’t care what you think. I have to take the blame. Don’t bother about me.”
“Well, I won’t, I assure you,” she flung back. “It’s quite plain that your family means nothing to you. But if you had any sense of decency, Lester Kane, you would never let your sister be trapped into coming into a place like this. I’m disgusted, that’s all, and so will the others be when they hear of it.”
She turned on her heel and walked scornfully out, a withering look being reserved for Jennie, who had unfortunately stepped near the door of the dining-room. Vesta had disappeared. Jennie came in a little while later and closed the door. She knew of nothing to say. Lester, his thick hair pushed back from his vigorous face, leaned back moodily on his pillow. “What a devilish trick of fortune,” he thought. Now she would go home and tell it to the family. His father would know, and his mother. Robert, Imogene, Amy — all would hear. He would have no explanation to make — she had seen. He stared at the wall meditatively.
Meanwhile Jennie, moving about her duties, also found food for reflection. So this was her real position in another woman’s eyes. Now she could see what the world thought. This family was as aloof from her as if it lived on another planet. To his sisters and brothers, his father and mother, she was a bad woman, a creature far beneath him socially, far beneath him mentally and morally, a creature of the streets. And she had hoped somehow to rehabilitate herself in the eyes of the world. It cut her as nothing before had ever done. The thought tore a great, gaping wound in her sensibilities. She was really low and vile in her — Louise’s — eyes, in the world’s eyes, basically so in Lester’s eyes. How could it be otherwise? She went about numb and still, but the ache of defeat and disgrace was under it all. Oh, if she could only see some way to make herself right with the world, to live honourably, to be decent. How could that possibly be brought about? It ought to be — she knew that. But how?
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