Jennie is of a peculiar disposition.
She doesn't want much.
She's retiring by nature and doesn't care for show.
I've taken a cottage for her at Sandwood, a little place north of here on the lake; and there's plenty of money in trust, but, of course, she knows she can live anywhere she pleases."
"I understand exactly how she feels, Lester.
I know how you feel.
She is going to suffer very keenly for a while—we all do when we have to give up the thing we love.
But we can get over it, and we do. At least, we can live.
She will.
It will go hard at first, but after a while she will see how it is, and she won't feel any the worse toward you."
"Jennie will never reproach me, I know that," he replied.
"I'm the one who will do the reproaching. I'll be abusing myself for some time.
The trouble is with my particular turn of mind.
I can't tell, for the life of me, how much of this disturbing feeling of mine is habit—the condition that I'm accustomed to—and how much is sympathy.
I sometimes think I'm the the most pointless individual in the world.
I think too much."
"Poor Lester!" she said tenderly.
"Well, I understand for one.
You're lonely living where you are, aren't you?"
"I am that," he replied.
"Why not come and spend a few days down at West Baden?
I'm going there."
"When?" he inquired.
"Next Tuesday."
"Let me see," he replied.
"I'm not sure that I can."
He consulted his notebook.
"I could come Thursday, for a few days."
"Why not do that?
You need company.
We can walk and talk things out down there.
Will you?"
"Yes, I will," he replied.
She came toward him, trailing a lavender lounging robe.
"You're such a solemn philosopher, sir," she observed comfortably, "working through all the ramifications of things.
Why do you?
You were always like that."
"I can't help it," he replied.
"It's my nature to think."
"Well, one thing I know—" and she tweaked his ear gently.
"You're not going to make another mistake through sympathy if I can help it," she said daringly.
"You're going to stay disentangled long enough to give yourself a chance to think out what you want to do.
You must.
And I wish for one thing you'd take over the management of my affairs.
You could advise me so much better than my lawyer."
He arose and walked to the window, turning to look back at her solemnly.
"I know what you want," he said doggedly.
"And why shouldn't I?" she demanded, again approaching him.
She looked at him pleadingly, defiantly.
"Yes, why shouldn't I?"