Chapter Chapter 19 · The inconclusive nature of this interview, exciting as it was, did

not leave any doubt in either Lester Kane's or Jennie's mind;

certainly this was not the end of the affair. Kane knew that he was

deeply fascinated. This girl was lovely. She was sweeter than he had

had any idea of. Her hesitancy, her repeated protests, her gentle "no,

no, no" moved him as music might. Depend upon it, this girl was for

him, and he would get her. She was too sweet to let go. What did he

care about what his family or the world might think?

It was curious that Kane held the well-founded idea that in time

Jennie would yield to him physically, as she had already done

spiritually. Just why he could not say. Something about her--a

warm womanhood, a guileless expression of countenance--intimated

a sympathy toward sex relationship which had nothing to do with hard,

brutal immorality. She was the kind of a woman who was made for a

man--one man. All her attitude toward sex was bound up with love,

tenderness, service. When the one man arrived she would love him and

she would go to him. That was Jennie as Lester understood her. He felt

it. She would yield to him because he was the one man.

On Jennie's part there was a great sense of complication and of

possible disaster. If he followed her of course he would learn all.

She had not told him about Brander, because she was still under the

vague illusion that, in the end, she might escape. When she left him

she knew that he would come back. She knew, in spite of herself that

she wanted him to do so. Yet she felt that she must not yield, she

must go on leading her straitened, humdrum life. This was her

punishment for having made a mistake. She had made her bed, and she

must lie on it.

The Kane family mansion at Cincinnati to which Lester returned

after leaving Jennie was an imposing establishment, which contrasted

strangely with the Gerhardt home. It was a great, rambling, two-story

affair, done after the manner of the French chateaux, but in red brick

and brownstone. It was set down, among flowers and trees, in an almost

park-like inclosure, and its very stones spoke of a splendid dignity

and of a refined luxury. Old Archibald Kane, the father, had amassed a

tremendous fortune, not by grabbing and brow-beating and unfair

methods, but by seeing a big need and filling it. Early in life he had

realized that America was a growing country. There was going to be a

big demand for vehicles--wagons, carriages, drays--and he

knew that some one would have to supply them. Having founded a small

wagon industry, he had built it up into a great business; he made good

wagons, and he sold them at a good profit. It was his theory that most

men were honest; he believed that at bottom they wanted honest things,

and if you gave them these they would buy of you, and come back and

buy again and again, until you were an influential and rich man. He

believed in the measure "heaped full and running over." All through

his life and now in his old age he enjoyed the respect and approval of

every one who knew him. "Archibald Kane," you would hear his

competitors say, "Ah, there is a fine man. Shrewd, but honest. He's a

big man."

This man was the father of two sons and three daughters, all

healthy, all good-looking, all blessed with exceptional minds, but

none of them so generous and forceful as their long-living and

big-hearted sire. Robert, the eldest, a man forty years of age, was

his father's right-hand man in financial matters, having a certain

hard incisiveness which fitted him for the somewhat sordid details of

business life. He was of medium height, of a rather spare build, with

a high forehead, slightly inclined to baldness, bright, liquid-blue

eyes, an eagle nose, and thin, firm, even lips. He was a man of few

words, rather slow to action and of deep thought. He sat close to his

father as vice-president of the big company which occupied two whole

blocks in an outlying section of the city. He was a strong man--a

coming man, as his father well knew.

Lester, the second boy, was his father's favorite. He was not by

any means the financier that Robert was, but he had a larger vision of

the subtleties that underlie life. He was softer, more human, more

good-natured about everything. And, strangely enough, old Archibald

admired and trusted him. He knew he had the bigger vision. Perhaps he

turned to Robert when it was a question of some intricate financial

problem, but Lester was the most loved as a son.

Then there was Amy, thirty-two years of age, married, handsome, the

mother of one child--a boy; Imogene, twenty-eight, also married,

but as yet without children, and Louise, twenty-five, single, the

best-looking of the girls, but also the coldest and most critical. She

was the most eager of all for social distinction, the most vigorous of

all in her love of family prestige, the most desirous that the Kane

family should outshine every other. She was proud to think that the

family was so well placed socially, and carried herself with an air

and a hauteur which was sometimes amusing, sometimes irritating to

Lester! He liked her--in a way she was his favorite

sister--but he thought she might take herself with a little less

seriousness and not do the family standing any harm.

Mrs. Kane, the mother, was a quiet, refined woman, sixty years of

age, who, having come up from comparative poverty with her husband,

cared but little for social life. But she loved her children and her

husband, and was naively proud of their position and attainments. It

was enough for her to shine only in their reflected glory. A good

woman, a good wife, and a good mother.

Lester arrived at Cincinnati early in the evening, and drove at

once to his home. An old Irish servitor met him at the door.

"Ah, Mr. Lester," he began, joyously, "sure I'm glad to see you

back. I'll take your coat. Yes, yes, it's been fine weather we're

having. Yes, yes, the family's all well. Sure your sister Amy is just

after leavin' the house with the boy. Your mother's up-stairs in her

room. Yes, yes."

Lester smiled cheerily and went up to his mother's room. In this,

which was done in white and gold and overlooked the garden to the

south and east, sat Mrs. Kane, a subdued, graceful, quiet woman, with

smoothly laid gray hair. She looked up when the door opened, laid down

the volume that she had been reading, and rose to greet him.

"There you are, Mother," he said, putting his arms around her and

kissing her. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm just about the same, Lester. How have you been?"

"Fine. I was up with the Bracebridges for a few days again. I had

to stop off in Cleveland to see Parsons. They all asked after

you."

"How is Minnie?"

"Just the same. She doesn't change any that I can see. She's just

as interested in entertaining as she ever was."

"She's a bright girl," remarked his mother, recalling Mrs.

Bracebridge as a girl in Cincinnati. "I always liked her. She's so

sensible."

"She hasn't lost any of that, I can tell you," replied Lester

significantly. Mrs. Kane smiled and went on to speak of various family

happenings. Imogene's husband was leaving for St. Louis on some

errand. Robert's wife was sick with a cold. Old Zwingle, the yard

watchman at the factory, who had been with Mr. Kane for over forty

years, had died. Her husband was going to the funeral. Lester listened

dutifully, albeit a trifle absently.

Lester, as he walked down the hall, encountered Louise. "Smart" was

the word for her. She was dressed in a beaded black silk dress,

fitting close to her form, with a burst of rubies at her throat which

contrasted effectively with her dark complexion and black hair. Her

eyes were black and piercing.

"Oh, there you are, Lester," she exclaimed. "When did you get in?

Be careful how you kiss me. I'm going out, and I'm all fixed, even to

the powder on my nose. Oh, you bear!" Lester had gripped her firmly

and kissed her soundly. She pushed him away with her strong hands.

"I didn't brush much of it off," he said. "You can always dust more

on with that puff of yours." He passed on to his own room to dress for

dinner. Dressing for dinner was a custom that had been adopted by the

Kane family in the last few years. Guests had become so common that in

a way it was a necessity, and Louise, in particular, made a point of

it. To-night Robert was coming, and a Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, old

friends of his father and mother, and so, of course, the meal would be

a formal one. Lester knew that his father was around somewhere, but he

did not trouble to look him up now. He was thinking of his last two

days in Cleveland and wondering when he would see Jennie again.