Jennie Gerhardt - Драйзер Теодор. Страница 51

"You mustn't ask questions. Let mamma ask you what you want. And

don't reach, ever."

Vesta agreed solemnly, but her childish mind hardly grasped the full

significance of the warning.

Lester came at seven. Jennie, who had taken great pains to array Vesta as attractively as possible, had gone into her bedroom to give her own toilet a last touch. Vesta was supposedly in the kitchen. As a matter of fact, she had followed her mother to the door of the sitting-room, where now she

could be plainly seen. Lester hung up his hat and coat, then, turning, he caught his first glimpse. The child looked very sweet—he admitted that at a glance. She was arrayed in a blue-dotted, white flannel dress, with a soft roll collar and cuffs, and the costume was completed by white stockings

and shoes. Her corn-coloured ringlets hung gaily about her face. Blue

eyes, rosy lips, rosy cheeks completed the picture. Lester stared, almost inclined to say something, but restrained himself. Vesta shyly retreated.

When Jennie came out he commented on the fact that Vesta had arrived.

"Rather sweet-looking child," he said. "Do you have much trouble in making her mind?"

"Not much," she returned.

Jennie went on to the dining-room, and Lester overheard a scrap of their

conversation.

"Who are he?" asked Vesta.

"Sh! That's your Uncle Lester. Didn't I tell you you mustn't talk?"

"Are he your uncle?"

"No, dear. Don't talk now. Run into the kitchen."

"Are he only my uncle?"

"Yes. Now run along."

"All right."

In spite of himself Lester had to smile.

What might have followed if the child had been homely, misshapen,

peevish, or all three, can scarcely be conjectured. Had Jennie been less

tactful, even in the beginning, he might have obtained a disagreeable

impression. As it was, the natural beauty of the child, combined with the mother's gentle diplomacy in keeping her in the background, served to

give him that fleeting glimpse of innocence and youth which is always

pleasant. The thought struck him that Jennie had been the mother of a

child all these years; she had been separated from it for months at a time; she had never even hinted at its existence, and yet her affection for Vesta was obviously great. "It's queer," he said. "She's a peculiar woman."

One morning Lester was sitting in the parlour reading his paper when he

thought he heard something stir. He turned, and was surprised to see a

large blue eye fixed upon him through the crack of a neighbouring door—

the effect was most disconcerting. It was not like the ordinary eye, which, under such embarrassing circumstances, would have been immediately

withdrawn; it kept its position with deliberate boldness. He turned his

paper solemnly and looked again. There was the eye. He turned it again.

Still was the eye present. He crossed his legs and looked again. Now the

eye was gone.

This little episode, unimportant in itself, was yet informed with the saving grace of comedy, a thing to which Lester was especially responsive.

Although not in the least inclined to relax his attitude of aloofness, he found his mind, in the minutest degree, tickled by the mysterious

appearance; the corners of his mouth were animated by a desire to turn

up. He did not give way to the feeling, and stuck by his paper, but the

incident remained very clearly in his mind. The young wayfarer had made

her first really important impression upon him.

Not long after this Lester was sitting one morning at breakfast, calmly

eating his chop and conning his newspaper, when he was aroused by

another visitation—this time not quite so simple. Jennie had given Vesta

her breakfast, and set her to amuse herself alone until Lester should leave the house. Jennie was seated at the table, pouring out the coffee, when

Vesta suddenly appeared, very business-like in manner, and marched

through the room. Lester looked up, and Jennie coloured and arose.

"What is it, Vesta?" she inquired, following her.

By this time, however, Vesta had reached the kitchen, secured a little

broom, and returned, a droll determination lighting her face.

"I want my little broom," she exclaimed and marched sedately past, at which manifestation of spirit Lester again twitched internally, this time allowing the slightest suggestion of a smile to play across his mouth.

The final effect of this intercourse was gradually to break down the

feeling of distaste Lester had for the child, and to establish in its place a sort of tolerant recognition of her possibilities as a human being.

The developments of the next six months were of a kind to further relax

the strain of opposition which still existed in Lester's mind. Although not at all resigned to the somewhat tainted atmosphere in which he was

living, he yet found himself so comfortable that he could not persuade

himself to give it up. It was too much like a bed of down. Jennie was too worshipful. The condition of unquestioned liberty, so far as all his old

social relationships were concerned, coupled with the privilege of quiet, simplicity, and affection in the home was too inviting. He lingered on,

and began to feel that perhaps it would be just as well to let matters rest as they were.

During this period his friendly relations with the little Vesta insensibly strengthened. He discovered that there was a real flavour of humour about Vesta's doings, and so came to watch for its development. She was

forever doing something interesting, and although Jennie watched over

her with a care that was in itself a revelation to him, nevertheless Vesta managed to elude every effort to suppress her and came straight home

with her remarks. Once, for example, she was sawing away at a small

piece of meat upon her large plate with her big knife, when Lester

remarked to Jennie that it might be advisable to get her a little breakfast set.

"She can hardly handle these knives."

"Yes," said Vesta instantly. "I need a little knife. My hand is just so very little."

She held it up. Jennie, who never could tell what was to follow, reached

over and put it down, while Lester with difficulty restrained a desire to laugh.

Another morning, not long after, she was watching Jennie put the lumps

of sugar in Lester's cup, when she broke in with, "I want two lumps in mine, mamma."

"No, dearest," replied Jennie, "you don't need any in yours. You have milk to drink."

"Uncle Lester has two," she protested.

"Yes," returned Jennie; "but you're only a little girl. Besides you mustn't say anything like that at the table. It isn't nice."

"Uncle Lester eats too much sugar," was her immediate rejoinder, at which that fine gourmet smiled broadly.

"I don't know about that," he put in, for the first time deigning to answer her directly. "That sounds like the fox and grapes to me." Vesta smiled back at him, and now that the ice was broken she chattered on

unrestrainedly. One thing led to another, and at last Lester felt as though, in a way, the little girl belonged to him; he was willing even that she

should share in such opportunities as his position and wealth might make

possible—provided, of course, that he stayed with Jennie, and that they

worked out some arrangement which would not put him hopelessly out of

touch with the world which was back of him, and which he had to keep