Jennie Gerhardt Part 56

The talk was stimulating. Lester was always at his ease intellectually, and this mental atmosphere revived him. Presently he turned to greet Berry Dodge, who was standing at his elbow.

Dodge was all cordiality. "Where are you now?" he asked. "We haven't seen you in--oh, when? Mrs. Dodge is waiting to have a word with you." Lester noticed the change in Dodge's att.i.tude.

"Some time, that's sure," he replied easily. "I'm living at the Auditorium."

"I was asking after you the other day. You know Jackson Du Bois? Of course you do. We were thinking of running up into Canada for some hunting. Why don't you join us?"

"I can't," replied Lester. "Too many things on hand just now.

Later, surely."

Dodge was anxious to continue. He had seen Lester's election as a director of the C. H. & D. Obviously he was coming back into the world. But dinner was announced and Lester sat at Mrs. Gerald's right hand.

"Aren't you coming to pay me a dinner call some afternoon after this?" asked Mrs. Gerald confidentially when the conversation was brisk at the other end of the table.

"I am, indeed," he replied, "and shortly. Seriously, I've been wanting to look you up. You understand though how things are now?"

"I do. I've heard a great deal. That's why I want you to come. We need to talk together."

Ten days later he did call. He felt as if he must talk with her; he was feeling bored and lonely; his long home life with Jennie had made hotel life objectionable. He felt as though he must find a sympathetic, intelligent ear, and where better than here? Letty was all ears for his troubles. She would have pillowed his solid head upon her breast in a moment if that had been possible.

"Well," he said, when the usual fencing preliminaries were over, "what will you have me say in explanation?"

"Have you burned your bridges behind you?" she asked.

"I'm not so sure," he replied gravely. "And I can't say that I'm feeling any too joyous about the matter as a whole."

"I thought as much," she replied. "I knew how it would be with you.

I can see you wading through this mentally, Lester. I have been watching you, every step of the way, wishing you peace of mind. These things are always so difficult, but don't you know I am still sure it's for the best. It never was right the other way. It never could be. You couldn't afford to sink back into a mere sh.e.l.l-fish life. You are not organized temperamentally for that any more than I am. You may regret what you are doing now, but you would have regretted the other thing quite as much and more. You couldn't work your life out that way--now, could you?"

"I don't know about that, Letty. Really, I don't. I've wanted to come and see you for a long time, but I didn't think that I ought to.

The fight was outside--you know what I mean."

"Yes, indeed, I do," she said soothingly.

"It's still inside. I haven't gotten over it. I don't know whether this financial business binds me sufficiently or not. I'll be frank and tell you that I can't say I love her entirely; but I'm sorry, and that's something."

"She's comfortably provided for, of course," she commented rather than inquired.

"Everything she wants. Jennie is of a peculiar disposition. She doesn't want much. She's retiring by nature and doesn't care for show.

I've taken a cottage for her at Sandwood, a little place north of here on the lake; and there's plenty of money in trust, but, of course, she knows she can live anywhere she pleases."

"I understand exactly how she feels, Lester. I know how you feel.

She is going to suffer very keenly for a while--we all do when we have to give up the thing we love. But we can get over it, and we do.

At least, we can live. She will. It will go hard at first, but after a while she will see how it is, and she won't feel any the worse toward you."

"Jennie will never reproach me, I know that," he replied. "I'm the one who will do the reproaching. I'll be abusing myself for some time.

The trouble is with my particular turn of mind. I can't tell, for the life of me, how much of this disturbing feeling of mine is habit--the condition that I'm accustomed to--and how much is sympathy. I sometimes think I'm the the most pointless individual in the world. I think too much."

"Poor Lester!" she said tenderly. "Well, I understand for one.

You're lonely living where you are, aren't you?"

"I am that," he replied.

"Why not come and spend a few days down at West Baden? I'm going there."

"When?" he inquired.

"Next Tuesday."

"Let me see," he replied. "I'm not sure that I can." He consulted his notebook. "I could come Thursday, for a few days."

"Why not do that? You need company. We can walk and talk things out down there. Will you?"

"Yes, I will," he replied.

She came toward him, trailing a lavender lounging robe. "You're such a solemn philosopher, sir," she observed comfortably, "working through all the ramifications of things. Why do you? You were always like that."

"I can't help it," he replied. "It's my nature to think."

"Well, one thing I know--" and she tweaked his ear gently.

"You're not going to make another mistake through sympathy if I can help it," she said daringly. "You're going to stay disentangled long enough to give yourself a chance to think out what you want to do. You must. And I wish for one thing you'd take over the management of my affairs. You could advise me so much better than my lawyer."

He arose and walked to the window, turning to look back at her solemnly. "I know what you want," he said doggedly.

"And why shouldn't I?" she demanded, again approaching him. She looked at him pleadingly, defiantly. "Yes, why shouldn't I?"

"You don't know what you're doing," he grumbled; but he kept on looking at her; she stood there, attractive as a woman of her age could be, wise, considerate, full of friendship and affection.

"Letty," he said. "You ought not to want to marry me. I'm not worth it. Really I'm not. I'm too cynical. Too indifferent. It won't be worth anything in the long run."

"It will be worth something to me," she insisted. "I know what you are. Anyhow, I don't care. I want you!"

He took her hands, then her arms. Finally he drew her to him, and put his arms about her waist. "Poor Letty!" he said; "I'm not worth it. You'll be sorry."

"No, I'll not," she replied. "I know what I'm doing. I don't care what you think you are worth." She laid her cheek on his shoulder. "I want you."

"If you keep on I venture to say you'll have me," he returned. He bent and kissed her.

"Oh," she exclaimed, and hid her hot face against his breast.

"This is bad business," he thought, even as he held her within the circle of his arms. "It isn't what I ought to be doing."

Still he held her, and now when she offered her lips coaxingly he kissed her again and again.

CHAPTER LVI