She wished sincerely that he were free.
And Lester—subconsciously perhaps—was thinking the same thing.
No doubt because of the fact that she was thinking of it, he had been led over mentally all of the things which might have happened if he had married her.
They were so congenial now, philosophically, artistically, practically.
There was a natural flow of conversation between them all the time, like two old comrades among men.
She knew everybody in his social sphere, which was equally hers, but Jennie did not. They could talk of certain subtle characteristics of life in a way which was not possible between him and Jennie, for the latter did not have the vocabulary.
Her ideas did not flow as fast as those of Mrs. Gerald. Jennie had actually the deeper, more comprehensive, sympathetic, and emotional note in her nature, but she could not show it in light conversation.
Actually she was living the thing she was, and that was perhaps the thing which drew Lester to her.
Just now, and often in situations of this kind, she seemed at a disadvantage, and she was.
It seemed to Lester for the time being as if Mrs. Gerald would perhaps have been a better choice after all—certainly as good, and he would not now have this distressing thought as to his future.
They did not see Mrs. Gerald again until they reached Cairo.
In the gardens about the hotel they suddenly encountered her, or rather Lester did, for he was alone at the time, strolling and smoking.
"Well, this is good luck," he exclaimed.
"Where do you come from?"
"Madrid, if you please.
I didn't know I was coming until last Thursday.
The Ellicotts are here. I came over with them.
You know I wondered where you might be. Then I remembered that you said you were going to Egypt.
Where is your wife?"
"In her bath, I fancy, at this moment.
This warm weather makes Jennie take to water.
I was thinking of a plunge myself."
They strolled about for a time.
Letty was in light blue silk, with a blue and white parasol held daintily over her shoulder, and looked very pretty.
"Oh, dear!" she suddenly ejaculated,
"I wonder sometimes what I am to do with myself.
I can't loaf always this way.
I think I'll go back to the States to live."
"Why don't you?"
"What good would it do me?
I don't want to get married.
I haven't any one to marry now—that I want."
She glanced at Lester significantly, then looked away.
"Oh, you'll find some one eventually," he said, somewhat awkwardly.
"You can't escape for long—not with your looks and money."
"Oh, Lester, hush!"
"All right! Have it otherwise, if you want.
I'm telling you."
"Do you still dance?" she inquired lightly, thinking of a ball which was to be given at the hotel that evening.
He had danced so well a few years before.
"Do I look it?"
"Now, Lester, you don't mean to say that you have gone and abandoned that last charming art.
I still love to dance.
Doesn't Mrs. Kane?"
"No, she doesn't care to.
At least she hasn't taken it up.
Come to think of it, I suppose that is my fault.
I haven't thought of dancing in some time."
It occurred to him that he hadn't been going to functions of any kind much for some time.
The opposition his entanglement had generated had put a stop to that.