“Why, yes, I feel all right,” she replied, but there was a peculiar uneven motion to the movement of her lips—a rippling tremor which was unmistakable to him.
“I think I know better than that,” he said, still gazing at her steadily. “What’s the trouble? Anything happened?”
She turned away from him a moment to get her breath and collect her senses. Then she faced him again. “There is something,” she managed to say. “I have to tell you something.”
“I know you have,” he agreed, half smiling, but with a feeling that there was much of grave import back of this. “What is it?”
She was silent for a moment, biting her lips. She did not quite know how to begin. Finally she broke the spell with: “There was a man here yesterday—a Mr. O’Brien, of Cincinnati. Do you know him?”
“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 should he be talking to you about my father’s will!” he exclaimed. “What did he have to say?”
“Please don’t get angry, Lester,” said Jennie calmly, for she realized that she must remain absolute mistress of herself if anything were to be accomplished toward the resolution of her problem. “He wanted to tell me what a sacrifice you are making,” she went on. “He wished to show me that there was only a little time left before you would lose your inheritance. Don’t you want to act pretty soon? Don’t you want to leave me.”
“Damn him!” said Lester fiercely. “What the devil does he mean by putting his nose in my private affairs? Can’t they let me alone?” He shook himself angrily. “Damn them!” he exclaimed again. “This is some of Robert’s work. Why should Knight, Keatley & O’Brien be meddling in my affairs? This whole business is getting to be a nuisance!” He was in a boiling rage in a moment, as was shown by his darkening skin and 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 a year. That if you didn’t and still lived with me you would get nothing at all. If you would leave me, or I would leave you, you would get all of a million and a half. Don’t you think you had better leave me now?”
She had not intended to propound this leading question so quickly, but it came out as a natural climax to the situation. She realized instantly that if he were really in love with her he would answer with an emphatic “no.” If he didn’t care, he would hesitate, he would delay, he would seek to put off the evil day of reckoning.
“I don’t see that,” he retorted irritably. “I don’t see that there’s any need for either interference or hasty action. What I object to is their coming here and mixing in my private affairs.”
Jennie was cut to the quick by his indifference, his wrath instead of affection. To her the main point at issue was her leaving him or his leaving her. To him this recent interference was obviously the chief matter for discussion and consideration. The meddling of others before he was ready to act was the terrible thing. She had hoped, in spite of what she had seen, that possibly, because of the long time they had lived together and the things which (in a way) they had endured together, he might have come to care for her deeply—that she had stirred some emotion in him which would never brook real separation, though some seeming separation might be necessary. He had not married her, of course, but then there had been so many things against them. Now, in this final hour, anyhow, he might have shown that he cared deeply, even if he had deemed it necessary to let her go. She felt for the time being as if, for all that she had lived with him so long, she did not understand him, and yet, in spite of this feeling, she knew also that she did. He cared, in his way. He could not care for any one enthusiastically and demonstratively. He could care enough to seize her and take her to himself as he had, but he could not care enough to keep her if something more important appeared. He was debating her fate now. She was in a quandary, hurt, bleeding, but for once in her life, determined. Whether he wanted to or not, she must not let him make this sacrifice. She must leave him—if he would not leave her. It was not important enough that she should stay. There might be but one answer. But might he not show affection?
“Don’t you think you had better act soon?” she continued, hoping that some word of feeling would come from him. “There is only a little time left, isn’t there?”
Jennie nervously pushed a book to and fro on the table, her fear that she would not be able to keep up appearances troubling her greatly. It was hard for her to know what to do or say. Lester was so terrible when he became angry. Still it ought not to be so hard for him to go, now that he had Mrs. Gerald, if he only wished to do so—and he ought to. His fortune was so much more important to him than anything she could be.
“Don’t worry about that,” he replied stubbornly, his wrath at his brother, and his family, and O’Brien still holding him. “There’s time enough. I don’t know what I want to do yet. I like the effrontery of these people! But I won’t talk any more about it; isn’t dinner nearly ready?” He was so injured in his pride that he scarcely took the trouble to be civil. He was forgetting all about her and what she was feeling. He hated his brother Robert for this affront. He would have enjoyed 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 up again at dinner, after Jennie had done her best to collect her thoughts and quiet her nerves. They could not talk very freely because of 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,” he persisted. “I’m in no mood for it. I don’t know that I’m going to do anything of the sort. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He was so sour and obstinate, because of O’Brien, that she finally gave it up. Vesta was astonished to see her stepfather, usually so courteous, in so grim a mood.
Jennie felt a curious sense that she might hold him if she would, for he was doubting; but she knew also that she should not wish. It was not fair to him. It was not fair to herself, or kind, or decent.
“Oh yes, Lester, you must,” she pleaded, at a later time. “I won’t talk about it any more, but you must. I won’t let you do anything else.”
There were hours when it came up afterward—every day, in fact—in their boudoir, in the library, in the dining-room, at breakfast, but not always in words. Jennie was worried. She was looking the worry she felt. She was sure that he should be made to act. Since he was showing more kindly consideration for her, she was all the more certain that he should act soon. Just how to go about it she did not know, but she looked at him longingly, trying to help him make up his mind. She would be happy, she assured herself—she would be happy thinking that he was happy once she was away from him. He was a good man, most delightful in everything, perhaps, save his gift 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 had affected his attitude. She could understand that, too. She could see now how his big, strong brain might be working in a circle. He was too decent to be absolutely brutal about this thing and leave her, too really considerate to look sharply after his own interests as he should, or hers—but he ought to.
“You must decide, Lester,” she kept saying to him, from time to time. “You must let me go. What difference does it make? I will be all right. Maybe, when this thing is all over you might want to come back to me. If you do, I will be there.”