Jennie Gerhardt - Драйзер Теодор (книги без регистрации бесплатно полностью сокращений .txt) 📗

relationship, Letty decided that if ever this occurred it should be a quiet affair. She wanted a simple explanation in the papers of how it had come

about, and then afterwards, when things were normal again and gossip

had subsided, she would enter on a dazzling social display for his sake.

"Why not let us get married in April and go abroad for the summer?" she asked once, after they had reached a silent understanding that marriage

would eventually follow. "Let's go to Japan. Then we can come back in the fall, and take a house on the Drive."

Lester had been away from Jennie so long now that the first severe wave

of self-reproach had passed. He was still doubtful, but he preferred to

stifle his misgivings. "Very well," he replied, almost jokingly. "Only don't let there be any fuss about it."

"Do you really mean that, sweet?" she exclaimed, looking over at him; they had been spending the evening together quietly reading and chatting.

"I've thought about it a long while," he replied. "I don't see why not."

She came over to him and sat on his knee, putting her arms upon his

shoulders.

"I can scarcely believe you said that," she said, looking at him curiously.

"Shall I take it back?" he asked.

"No, no. It's agreed for April now. And we'll go to Japan. You can't change your mind. There won't be any fuss. But my, what a trousseau I

will prepare!"

He smiled a little constrainedly as she tousled his head; there was a

missing note somewhere in this gamut of happiness; perhaps it was

because he was getting old.

CHAPTER LVII

In the meantime Jennie was going her way, settling herself in the

markedly different world in which henceforth she was to move. It seemed

a terrible thing at first—this life without Lester. Despite her own strong individuality, her ways had become so involved with his that there

seemed to be no possibility of disentangling them. Constantly she was

with him in thought and action, just as though they had never separated.

Where was he now? What was he doing? What was he saying? How was

he looking? In the mornings when she woke it was with the sense that he

must be beside her. At night as if she could not go to bed alone. He would come after a while surely—ah, no, of course he would not come. Dear

heaven, think of that! Never any more. And she wanted him so.

Again there were so many little trying things to adjust, for a change of

this nature is too radical to be passed over lightly. The explanation she had to make to Vesta was of all the most important. This little girl, who was old enough now to see and think for herself, was not without her

surmises and misgivings. Vesta recalled that her mother had been accused

of not being married to her father when she was born. She had seen the

article about Jennie and Lester in the Sunday paper at the time it had

appeared—it had been shown to her at school—but she had had sense

enough to say nothing about it, feeling somehow that Jennie would not

like it. Lester's disappearance was a complete surprise; but she had

learned in the last two or three years that her mother was very sensitive, and that she could hurt her in unexpected ways. Jennie was finally

compelled to tell Vesta that Lester's fortune had been dependent on his

leaving her solely because she was not of his station. Vesta listened

soberly and half suspected the truth. She felt terribly sorry for her mother, and, because of Jennie's obvious distress, she was trebly gay and

courageous. She refused outright the suggestion of going to a boarding-

school and kept as close to her mother as she could. She found interesting books to read with her, insisted that they go to see plays together, played to her on the piano, and asked for her mother's criticisms on her drawing and modelling. She found a few friends in the excellent Sandwood

school, and brought them home of an evening to add lightness and gaiety

to the cottage life. Jennie, through her growing appreciation of Vesta's

fine character, became more and more drawn toward her. Lester was

gone, but at least she had Vesta. That prop would probably sustain her in the face of a waning existence.

There was also her history to account for to the residents of Sandwood. In many cases where one is content to lead a secluded life it is not necessary to say much of one's past, but as a rule something must be said. People

have the habit of inquiring—if they are no more than butchers and bakers.

By degrees one must account for this and that fact, and it was so here.

She could not say that her husband was dead. Lester might come back.

She had to say that she had left him—to give the impression that it would be she, if any one, who would permit him to return. This put her in an

interesting and sympathetic light in the neighbourhood. It was the most

sensible thing to do. She then settled down to a quiet routine of existence, waiting what denouement to her life she could not guess.

Sandwood life was not without its charms for a lover of nature, and this, with the devotion of Vesta, offered some slight solace. There was the

beauty of the lake, which, with its passing boats, was a never-ending

source of joy, and there were many charming drives in the surrounding

country. Jenny had her own horse and carryall—one of the horses of the

pair they had used in Hyde Park. Other household pets appeared in due

course of time, including a collie, that Vesta named Rats; she had brought him from Chicago as a puppy, and he had grown to be a sterling watch-dog, sensible and affectionate. There was also a cat, Jimmy Woods, so

called after a boy Vesta knew, and to whom she insisted the cat bore a

marked resemblance. There was a singing thrush, guarded carefully

against a roving desire for bird-food on the part of Jimmy Woods, and a

jar of goldfish. So this little household drifted along quietly and dreamily indeed, but always with the undercurrent of feeling which ran so still

because it was so deep.

There was no word from Lester for the first few weeks following his

departure; he was too busy following up the threads of his new

commercial connections and too considerate to wish to keep Jennie in a

state of mental turmoil over communications which, under the present

circumstances, could mean nothing. He preferred to let matters rest for

the time being; then a little later he would write her sanely and calmly of how things were going. He did this after the silence of a month, saying

that he had been pretty well pressed by commercial affairs, that he had

been in and out of the city frequently (which was the truth), and that he would probably be away from Chicago a large part of the time in the

future. He inquired after Vesta and the condition of affairs generally at Sandwood. "I may get up there one of these days," he suggested, but he really did not mean to come, and Jennie knew that he did not.

Another month passed, and then there was a second letter from him, not

so long as the first one. Jennie had written him frankly and fully, telling him just how things stood with her. She concealed entirely her own

feelings in the matter, saying that she liked the life very much, and that she was glad to be at Sandwood. She expressed the hope that now

everything was coming out for the best for him, and tried to show him

that she was really glad matters had been settled. "You mustn't think of me as being unhappy," she said in one place, "for I'm not. I am sure it ought to be just as it is, and I wouldn't be happy if it were any other way.