During the remainder of Gerhardt’s stay he was shy in Jennie’s presence and endeavoured to act as though he were unconscious of her existence. When the time came for parting, he even went away without bidding her good-bye, telling his wife she might do that for him; but after he was actually on his way back to Youngstown he regretted the omission. “I might have bade her good-bye,” he thought to himself as the train rumbled heavily along. But it was too late.

For the time being the affairs of the Gerhardt family drifted. Jennie continued her work with Mrs. Bracebridge. Sebastian fixed himself firmly in his clerkship in the cigar store. George was promoted to the noble sum of three dollars, and then three-fifty. It was a narrow, humdrum life the family led. Coal, groceries, shoes, and clothing were the uppermost topics of their conversation; every one felt the stress and strain of trying to make ends meet.

That which worried Jennie most, and there were many things which weighed upon her sensitive soul, was the outcome of her own life — not so much for herself as for her baby and the family. She could not really see where she fitted in. “Who would have me?” she asked herself over and over. “How was she to dispose of Vesta in the event of a new love affair?” Such a contingency was quite possible. She was young, good-looking, and men were inclined to flirt with her, or rather to attempt it. The Bracebridges entertained many masculine guests, and some of them had made unpleasant overtures to her.

“My dear, you’re a very pretty girl,” said one old rake of fifty-odd when she knocked at his door one morning to give him a message from his hostess.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, confusedly, and coloured.

“Indeed, you’re quite sweet. And you needn’t beg my pardon. I’d like to talk to you some time.”

He attempted to chuck her under the chin, but Jennie hurried away. She would have reported the matter to her mistress but a nervous shame deterred her. “Why would men always be doing this?” she thought. Could it be because there was something innately bad about her, an inward corruption that attracted its like?

It is a curious characteristic of the non-defensive disposition that it is like a honey-jar to flies. Nothing is brought to it and much is taken away. Around a soft, yielding, unselfish disposition men swarm naturally. They sense this generosity, this non-protective attitude from afar. A girl like Jennie is like a comfortable fire to the average masculine mind; they gravitate to it, seek its sympathy, yearn to possess it. Hence she was annoyed by many unwelcome attentions.

One day there arrived from Cincinnati a certain Lester Kane, the son of a wholesale carriage builder of great trade distinction in that city and elsewhere throughout the country, who was wont to visit this house frequently in a social way. He was a friend of Mrs. Bracebridge more than of her husband, for the former had been raised in Cincinnati and as a girl had visited at his father’s house. She knew his mother, his brother and sisters and to all intents and purposes socially had always been considered one of the family.

“Lester’s coming tomorrow, Henry,” Jennie heard Mrs. Bracebridge tell her husband. “I had a wire from him this noon. He’s such a scamp. I’m going to give him the big east front room upstairs. Be sociable and pay him some attention. His father was so good to me.”

“I know it,” said her husband calmly. “I like Lester. He’s the biggest one in that family. But he’s too indifferent. He doesn’t care enough.”

“I know, but he’s so nice. I do think he’s one of the nicest men I ever knew.”

“I’ll be decent to him. Don’t I always do pretty well by your people?”

“Yes, pretty well.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he replied dryly.

When this notable person arrived Jennie was prepared to see some one of more than ordinary importance, and she was not disappointed. There came into the reception-hall to greet her mistress a man of perhaps thirty-six years of age, above the medium in height, clear-eyed, firm-jawed, athletic, direct, and vigorous. He had a deep, resonant voice that carried clearly everywhere; people somehow used to stop and listen whether they knew him or not. He was simple and abrupt in his speech.

“Oh, there you are,” he began. “I’m glad to see you again. How’s Mr. Bracebridge? How’s Fannie?”

He asked his questions forcefully, whole-heartedly, and his hostess answered with an equal warmth. “I’m glad to see you, Lester,” she said. “George will take your things upstairs. Come up into my room. It’s more comfy. How are grandpa and Louise?”

He followed her up the stairs, and Jennie, who had been standing at the head of the stairs listening, felt the magnetic charm of his personality. It seemed, why she could hardly say, that a real personage had arrived. The house was cheerier. The attitude of her mistress was much more complaisant. Everybody seemed to feel that something must be done for this man.

Jennie went about her work, but the impression persisted; his name ra............