"No.
I think I'll stay here. It's so pleasant.
You go.
Take him, Mrs. Gerald."
Lester and Letty strolled away.
They made a striking pair—Mrs. Gerald in dark wine-colored silk, covered with glistening black beads, her shapely arms and neck bare, and a flashing diamond of great size set just above her forehead in her dark hair.
Her lips were red, and she had an engaging smile, showing an even row of white teeth between wide, full, friendly lips.
Lester's strong, vigorous figure was well set off by his evening clothes, he looked distinguished.
"That is the woman he should have married," said Jennie to herself as he disappeared. She fell into a reverie, going over the steps of her past life.
Sometimes it seemed to her now as if she had been living in a dream. At other times she felt as though she were in that dream yet.
Life sounded in her ears much as this night did.
She heard its cries. She knew its large-mass features. But back of it were subtleties that shaded and changed one into the other like the shifting of dreams.
Why had she been so attractive to men?
Why had Lester been so eager to follow her?
Could she have prevented him?
She thought of her life in Columbus, when she carried coal; to-night she was in Egypt, at this great hotel, the chatelaine of a suite of rooms, surrounded by every luxury, Lester still devoted to her.
He had endured so many things for her!
Why?
Was she so wonderful?
Brander had said so.
Lester had told her so.
Still she felt humble, out of place, holding handfuls of jewels that did not belong to her.
Again she experienced that peculiar feeling which had come over her the first time she went to New York with Lester—namely, that this fairy existence could not endure.
Her life was fated.
Something would happen. She would go back to simple things, to a side street, a poor cottage, to old clothes.
And then as she thought of her home in Chicago, and the attitude of his friends, she knew it must be so.
She would never be received, even if he married her.
And she could understand why.
She could look into the charming, smiling face of this woman who was now with Lester, and see that she considered her very nice, perhaps, but not of Lester's class.
She was saying to herself now no doubt as she danced with Lester that he needed some one like her.
He needed some one who had been raised in the atmosphere of the things to which he had been accustomed.
He couldn't very well expect to find in her, Jennie, the familiarity with, the appreciation of the niceties to, which he had always been accustomed.
She understood what they were.
Her mind had awakened rapidly to details of furniture, clothing, arrangement, decorations, manner, forms, customs, but—she was not to the manner born.
If she went away Lester would return to his old world, the world of the attractive, well-bred, clever woman who now hung upon his arm.
The tears came into Jennie's eyes; she wished, for the moment, that she might die.
It would be better so.
Meanwhile Lester was dancing with Mrs. Gerald, or sitting out between the waltzes talking over old times, old places, and old friends.
As he looked at Letty he marveled at her youth and beauty.
She was more developed than formerly, but still as slender and shapely as Diana.
She had strength, too, in this smooth body of hers, and her black eyes were liquid and lusterful.
"I swear, Letty," he said impulsively, "you're really more beautiful than ever.
You're exquisite.
You've grown younger instead of older."
"You think so?" she smiled, looking up into his face.
"You know I do, or I wouldn't say so.
I'm not much on philandering."
"Oh, Lester, you bear, can't you allow a woman just a little coyness?
Don't you know we all love to sip our praise, and not be compelled to swallow it in one great mouthful?"
"What's the point?" he asked.