She could not go without telling him what she thought. He ought to want to leave her.
She was absolutely convinced that this one course of action—separation—was necessary and advisable.
She could not think of him as daring to make a sacrifice of such proportions for her sake even if he wanted to. It was impossible.
It was astonishing to her that he had let things go along as dangerously and silently as he had.
When he came in Jennie did her best to greet him with her accustomed smile, but it was a pretty poor imitation.
"Everything all right?" she asked, using her customary phrase of inquiry.
"Quite," he answered.
"How are things with you?"
"Oh, just the same."
She walked with him to the library, and he poked at the open fire with a long-handled poker before turning around to survey the room generally.
It was five o'clock of a January afternoon.
Jennie had gone to one of the windows to lower the shade.
As she came back he looked at her critically.
"You're not quite your usual self, are you?" he asked, sensing something out of the common in her attitude.
"Why, yes, I feel all right," she replied, but there was a peculiar uneven motion to the movement of her lips—a rippling tremor which was unmistakable to him.
"I think I know better than that," he said, still gazing at her steadily.
"What's the trouble?
Anything happened?"
She turned away from him a moment to get her breath and collect her senses.
Then she faced him again.
"There is something," she managed to say.
"I have to tell you something."
"I know you have," he agreed, half smiling, but with a feeling that there was much of grave import back of this. "What is it?"
She was silent for a moment, biting her lips. She did not quite know how to begin. Finally she broke the spell with:
"There was a man here yesterday—a Mr. O'Brien, of Cincinnati.
Do you know him?"
"Yes, I know him.
What did he want?"
"He came to talk to me about you and your father's will."
She paused, for his face clouded immediately.
"Why the devil should he be talking to you about my father's will!" he exclaimed.
"What did he have to say?"
"Please don't get angry, Lester," said Jennie calmly, for she realized that she must remain absolute mistress of herself if anything were to be accomplished toward the resolution of her problem.
"He wanted to tell me what a sacrifice you are making," she went on. "He wished to show me that there was only a little time left before you would lose your inheritance.
Don't you want to act pretty soon?
Don't you want to leave me."
"Damn him!" said Lester fiercely.
"What the devil does he mean by putting his nose in my private affairs?
Can't they let me alone?"
He shook himself angrily.
"Damn them!" he exclaimed again.
"This is some of Robert's work.
Why should Knight, Keatley & O'Brien be meddling in my affairs?
This whole business is getting to be a nuisance!"
He was in a boiling rage in a moment, as was shown by his darkening skin and sulphurous eyes.
Jennie trembled before his anger. She did not know what to say.
He came to himself sufficiently after a time to add:
"Well. Just what did he tell you?"
"He said that if you married me you would only get ten thousand a year.
That if you didn't and still lived with me you would get nothing at all.