CHAPTER LIII
The explanation which Lester had concluded to be inevitable,whether it led to separation or legalization of their hitherto banalcondition, followed quickly upon the appearance of Mr. O'Brien. On theday Mr. O'Brien called he had gone on a journey to Hegewisch, a smallmanufacturing town in Wisconsin, where he had been invited to witnessthe trial of a new motor intended to operate elevators--with aview to possible investment. When he came out to the house, interestedto tell Jennie something about it even in spite of the fact that hewas thinking of leaving her, he felt a sense of depression everywhere,for Jennie, in spite of the serious and sensible conclusion she hadreached, was not one who could conceal her feelings easily. She wasbrooding sadly over her proposed action, realizing that it was best toleave but finding it hard to summon the courage which would let hertalk to him about it. She could not go without telling him what shethought. He ought to want to leave her. She was absolutely convincedthat this one course of action--separation--was necessaryand advisable. She could not think of him as daring to make asacrifice of such proportions for her sake even if he wanted to. Itwas impossible. It was astonishing to her that he had let things goalong as dangerously and silently as he had.
When he came in Jennie did her best to greet him with heraccustomed smile, but it was a pretty poor imitation.
"Everything all right?" she asked, using her customary phrase ofinquiry.
"Quite," he answered. "How are things with you?"
"Oh, just the same." She walked with him to the library, and hepoked at the open fire with a long-handled poker before turning aroundto survey the room generally. It was five o'clock of a Januaryafternoon. Jennie had gone to one of the windows to lower the shade.As she came back he looked at her critically. "You're not quite yourusual self, are you?" he asked, sensing something out of the common inher attitude.
"Why, yes, I feel all right," she replied, but there was a peculiaruneven motion to the movement of her lips--a rippling tremorwhich was unmistakable to him.
"I think I know better than that," he said, still gazing at hersteadily. "What's the trouble? Anything happened?"
She turned away from him a moment to get her breath and collect hersenses. Then she faced him again. "There is something," she managed tosay. "I have to tell you something."
"I know you have," he agreed, half smiling, but with a feeling thatthere was much of grave import back of this. "What is it?"
She was silent for a moment, biting her lips. She did not quiteknow how to begin. Finally she broke the spell with: "There was a manhere yesterday--a Mr. O'Brien, of Cincinnati. Do you knowhim?"
"Yes, I know him. What did he want?"
"He came to talk to me about you and your father's will."
She paused, for his face clouded immediately. "Why the devil shouldhe be talking to you about my father's will!" he exclaimed. "What didhe have to say?"
"Please don't get angry, Lester," said Jennie calmly, for sherealized that she must remain absolute mistress of herself if anythingwere to be accomplished toward the resolution of her problem. "Hewanted to tell me what a sacrifice you are making," she went on. "Hewished to show me that there was only a little time left before youwould lose your inheritance. Don't you want to act pretty soon? Don'tyou want to leave me."
"Damn him!" said Lester fiercely. "What the devil does he mean byputting his nose in my private affairs? Can't they let me alone?" Heshook himself angrily. "Damn them!" he exclaimed again. "This is someof Robert's work. Why should Knight, Keatley & O'Brien be meddlingin my affairs? This whole business is getting to be a nuisance!" Hewas in a boiling rage in a moment, as was shown by his darkening skinand sulphurous eyes.
Jennie trembled before his anger. She did not know what to say.
He came to himself sufficiently after a time to add:
"Well. Just what did he tell you?"
"He said that if you married me you would only get ten thousand ayear. That if you didn't and still lived with me you would get nothingat all. If you would leave me, or I would leave you, you would get allof a million and a half. Don't you think you had better leave menow?"
She had not intended to propound this leading question so quickly,but it came out as a natural climax to the situation. She realizedinstantly that if he were really in love with her he would answer withan emphatic "no." If he didn't care, he would hesitate, he woulddelay, he would seek to put off the evil day of reckoning.
"I don't see that," he retorted irritably. "I don't see thatthere's any need for either interference or hasty action. What Iobject to is their coming here and mixing in my private affairs."
Jennie was cut to the quick by his indifference, his wrath insteadof affection. To her the main point at issue was her leaving him orhis leaving her. To him this recent interference was obviously thechief matter for discussion and consideration. The meddling of othersbefore he was ready to act was the terrible thing. She had hoped, inspite of what she had seen, that possibly, because of the long timethey had lived together and the things which (in a way) they hadendured together, he might have come to care for her deeply--thatshe had stirred some emotion in him which would never brook realseparation, though some seeming separation might be necessary. He hadnot married her, of course, but then there had been so many thingsagainst them. Now, in this final hour, anyhow, he might have shownthat he cared deeply, even if he had deemed it necessary to let hergo. She felt for the time being as if, for all that she had lived withhim so long, she did not understand him, and yet, in spite of thisfeeling, she knew also that she did. He cared, in his way. He couldnot care for any one enthusiastically and demonstratively. He couldcare enough to seize her and take her to himself as he had, but hecould not care enough to keep her if something more importantappeared. He was debating her fate now. She was in a quandary, hurt,bleeding, but for once in her life, determined. Whether he wanted toor not, she must not let him make this sacrifice. She must leavehim--if he would not leave her. It was not important enough thatshe should stay. There might be but one answer. But might he not showaffection?
"Don't you think you had better act soon?" she continued, hopingthat some word of feeling would come from him. "There is only a littletime left, isn't there?"
Jennie nervously pushed a book to and fro on the table, her fearthat she would not be able to keep up appearances troubling hergreatly. It was hard for her to know what to do or say. Lester was soterrible when he became angry. Still it ought not to be so hard forhim to go, now that he had Mrs. Gerald, if he only wished to doso--and he ought to. His fortune was so much more important tohim than anything she could be.
"Don't worry about that," he replied stubbornly, his wrath at hisbrother, and his family, and O'Brien still holding him. "There's timeenough. I don't know what I want to do yet. I like the effrontery ofthese people! But I won't talk any more about it; isn't dinner nearlyready?" He was so injured in his pride that he scarcely took thetrouble to be civil. He was forgetting all about her and what she wasfeeling. He hated his brother Robert for this affront. He would haveenjoyed wringing the necks of Messrs. Knight, Keatley & O'Brien,singly and collectively.
The question could not be dropped for good and all, and it came upagain at dinner, after Jennie had done her best to collect herthoughts and quiet her nerves. They could not talk very freely becauseof Vesta and Jeannette, but she managed to get in a word or two.
"I could take a little cottage somewhere," she suggested softly,hoping to find him in a modified mood. "I would not want to stay here.I would not know what to do with a big house like this alone."
"I wish you wouldn't discuss this business any longer, Jennie," hepersisted. "I'm in no mood for it. I don't know that I'm going to doanything of the sort. I don't know what I'm going to do." He was sosour and obstinate, because of O'Brien, that she finally gave it up.Vesta was astonished to see her stepfather, usually so courteous, inso grim a mood.
Jennie felt a curious sense that she might hold him if she would,for he was doubting; but she kne
w also that she should not wish. Itwas not fair to him. It was not fair to herself, or kind, ordecent.
"Oh yes, Lester, you must," she pleaded, at a later time. "I won'ttalk about it any more, but you must. I won't let you do anythingelse."
There were hours when it came up afterward--every day, infact--in their boudoir, in the library, in the dining-room, atbreakfast, but not always in words. Jennie was worried. She waslooking the worry she felt. She was sure that he should be made toact. Since he was showing more kindly consideration for her, she wasall the more certain that he should act soon. Just how to go about itshe did not know, but she looked at him longingly, trying to help himmake up his mind. She would be happy, she assured herself--shewould be happy thinking that he was happy once she was away from him.He was a good man, most delightful in everything, perhaps, save hisgift of love. He really did not love her--could not perhaps,after all that had happened, even though she loved him most earnestly.But his family had been most brutal in their opposition, and this hadaffected his attitude. She could understand that, too. She could seenow how his big, strong brain might be working in a circle. He was toodecent to be absolutely brutal about this thing and leave her, tooreally considerate to look sharply after his own interests as heshould, or hers--but he ought to.
"You must decide, Lester," she kept saying to him, from time totime. "You must let me go. What difference does it make? I will be allright. Maybe, when this thing is all over you might want to come backto me. If you do, I will be there."
"I'm not ready to come to a decision," was his invariable reply. "Idon't know that I want to leave you. This money is important, ofcourse, but money isn't everything. I can live on ten thousand a yearif necessary. I've done it in the past."
"Oh, but you're so much more placed in the world now, Lester," sheargued. "You can't do it. Look how much it costs to run this housealone. And a million and a half of dollars--why, I wouldn't letyou think of losing that. I'll go myself first."
"Where would you think of going if it came to that?" he askedcuriously.
"Oh, I'd find some place. Do you remember that little town ofSandwood, this side of Kenosha? I have often thought it would be apleasant place to live."
"I don't like to think of this," he said finally in an outburst offrankness. "It doesn't seem fair. The conditions have all been againstthis union of ours. I suppose I should have married you in the firstplace. I'm sorry now that I didn't."
Jennie choked in her throat, but said nothing.
"Anyhow, this won't be the last of it, if I can help it," heconcluded. He was thinking that the storm might blow over; once he hadthe money, and then--but he hated compromises andsubterfuges.
It came by degrees to be understood that, toward the end ofFebruary, she should look around at Sandwood and see what she couldfind. She was to have ample means, he told her, everything that shewanted. After a time he might come out and visit her occasionally. Andhe was determined in his heart that he would make some people pay forthe trouble they had caused him. He decided to send for Mr. O'Brienshortly and talk things over. He wanted for his personal satisfactionto tell him what he thought of him.
At the same time, in the background of his mind, moved the shadowyfigure of Mrs. Gerald--charming, sophisticated, well placed inevery sense of the word. He did not want to give her the broad realityof full thought, but she was always there. He thought and thought."Perhaps I'd better," he half concluded. When February came he wasready to act.