Jennie Gerhardt, Theodore Dreiser [web based ebook reader .txt] 📗

you I'm not apologizing 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 honorably, to be decent. How could that possibly be brought about? It ought to be—she knew that. But how?

CHAPTER XXXIII

Outraged in her family pride, Louise lost no time in returning to Cincinnati, where she told the story of her discovery, embellished with many details. According to her, she was met at the door by a "silly-looking, white-faced woman," who did not even offer to invite her in when she announced her name, but stood there "looking just as guilty as a person possibly could." Lester also had acted shamefully, having outbrazened the matter to her face. When she had demanded to know whose the child was he had refused to tell her. "It isn't mine," was all he would say.

"Oh dear, oh dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Kane, who was the first to hear the story. "My son, my Lester! How could he have done it!"

"And such a creature!" exclaimed Louise emphatically, as though the words needed to be reiterated to give them any shadow of reality.

"I went there solely because I thought I could help him," continued Louise. "I thought when they said he was indisposed that he might be seriously ill. How should I have known?"

"Poor Lester!" exclaimed her mother. "To think he would come to anything like that!"

Mrs. Kane turned the difficult problem over in her mind and, having no previous experiences whereby to measure it, telephoned for old Archibald, who came out from the factory and sat through the discussion with a solemn countenance. So Lester was living openly with a woman of whom they had never heard. He would probably be as defiant and indifferent as his nature was strong. The standpoint of parental authority was impossible. Lester was a centralized authority in himself, and if any overtures for a change of conduct were to be made, they would have to be very diplomatically executed.

Archibald Kane returned to the manufactory sore and disgusted, but determined that something ought to be done. He held a consultation with Robert, who confessed that he had heard disturbing rumors from time to time, but had not wanted to say anything. Mrs. Kane suggested that Robert might go to Chicago and have a talk with Lester.

"He ought to see that this thing, if continued, is going to do him irreparable damage," said Mr. Kane. "He cannot hope to carry it off successfully. Nobody can. He ought to marry her or he ought to quit. I want you to tell him that for me."

"All well and good," said Robert, "but who's going to convince him? I'm sure I don't want the job."

"I hope to," said old Archibald, "eventually; but you'd better go up and try, anyhow. It can't do any harm. He might come to his senses."

"I don't believe it," replied Robert. "He's a strong man. You see how much good talk does down here. Still, I'll go if it will relieve your feelings any. Mother wants it."

"Yes, yes," said his father distractedly, "better go."

Accordingly Robert went. Without allowing himself to anticipate any particular measure of success in this adventure, he rode pleasantly into Chicago confident in the reflection that he had all the powers of morality and justice on his side.

Upon Robert's arrival, the third morning after Louise's interview, he called up the warerooms, but Lester was not there. He then telephoned to the house, and tactfully made an appointment. Lester was still indisposed, but he preferred to come down to the office, and he did. He met Robert in his cheerful, nonchalant way, and together they talked business for a time. Then followed a pregnant silence.

"Well, I suppose you know what brought me up here," began Robert tentatively.

"I think I could make a guess at it," Lester replied.

"They were all very much worried over the fact that you were sick—mother particularly. You're not in any danger of having a relapse, are you?"

"I think not."

"Louise said there was some sort of a peculiar ménage she ran into up here. You're not married, are you?"

"No."

"The young woman Louise saw is just—" Robert waved his hand expressively.

Lester nodded.

"I don't want to be inquisitive, Lester. I didn't come up for that. I'm simply here because the family felt that I ought to come. Mother was so very much distressed that I couldn't do less than see you for her sake"—he paused, and Lester, touched by the fairness and respect of his attitude, felt that mere courtesy at least made some explanation due.

"I don't know that anything I can say will help matters much," he replied thoughtfully. "There's really nothing to be said. I have the woman and the family has its objections. The chief difficulty about the thing seems to be the bad luck in being found out."

He stopped, and Robert turned over the substance of this worldly reasoning in his mind. Lester was very calm about it. He seemed, as usual, to be most convincingly sane.

"You're not contemplating marrying her, are you?" queried Robert hesitatingly.

"I hadn't come to that," answered Lester coolly.

They looked at each other quietly for a moment, and then Robert turned his glance to the distant scene of the city.

"It's useless to ask whether you are seriously in love with her, I suppose," ventured Robert.

"I don't know whether I'd be able to discuss that divine afflatus with you or not," returned Lester, with a touch of grim humor. "I have never experienced the sensation myself. All I know is that the lady is very pleasing to me."

"Well, it's all a question of your own well-being and the family's, Lester," went on Robert, after another pause. "Morality doesn't seem to figure in it anyway—at least you and I can't discuss that together. Your feelings on that score naturally relate to you alone. But the matter of your own personal welfare seems to me to be substantial enough ground to base a plea on. The family's feelings and pride are also fairly important. Father's the kind of a man who sets more store by the honor of his family than most men. You know that as well as I do, of course."

"I know how father feels about it," returned Lester. "The whole business is as clear to me as it is to any of you, though off-hand I don't see just what's to be done about it. These matters aren't always of a day's growth, and they can't be settled in a day. The girl's here. To a certain extent I'm responsible that she is here. While I'm not willing to go into details, there's always more in these affairs than appears on the court calendar."

"Of course I don't know what your relations with her have been," returned Robert, "and I'm not curious to know, but it does look like a bit of injustice all around, don't you think—unless you intend to marry her?" This last was put forth as a feeler.

"I might be willing to agree to that, too," was Lester's baffling reply, "if anything were to be gained by it. The point is, the woman is here, and the family is in possession of the fact. Now if there is anything to be done I have to do it. There isn't anybody else who can act for me in this matter."

Lester lapsed into a silence, and Robert rose and paced the floor, coming back after a time to say: "You say you haven't any idea of marrying her—or rather you haven't come to it. I wouldn't, Lester. It seems to me you would be making the mistake of your life, from every point of view. I don't want to orate, but a man of your position has so much to lose; you can't afford to do it. Aside from family considerations, you have too much at stake. You'd be simply throwing your life away—"

He paused, with his right hand held out before him, as was customary when he was deeply in earnest, and Lester felt the candor and simplicity of this appeal. Robert was not criticizing him now. He was making an appeal to him, and this was somewhat different.

The appeal passed without comment, however, and then Robert began on a new tack, this time picturing old Archibald's fondness for Lester and the hope he had always entertained that he would marry some well-to-do Cincinnati girl, Catholic, if agreeable to him, but at least worthy of his station. And Mrs. Kane felt the same way; surely Lester must realize that.

"I know just how all of them feel about it," Lester interrupted at last, "but I don't see that anything's to be done right now."

"You mean that you don't think it would be policy for you to give her up just at present?"

"I mean that she's been exceptionally good to me, and that I'm morally under obligations to do the best I can by her. What that may be, I can't tell."

"To live with her?" inquired Robert coolly.

"Certainly not to turn