“I thought I’d speak to you about it,” she said. “People are talking. You’d better not let your daughter go to his room for the laundry.”
Mrs. Gerhardt was too astonished and hurt for utterance. Jennie had told her nothing, but even now she did not believe there was anything to tell. The watch had been both approved of and admired by her. She had not thought that it was endangering her daughter’s reputation.
Going home she worried almost incessantly, and talked with Jennie about it. The latter did not admit the implication that things had gone too far. In fact, she did not look at it in that light. She did not own, it is true, what really had happened while she was visiting the Senator.
“It’s so terrible that people should begin to talk!” said her mother. “Did you really stay so long in the room?”
“I don’t know,” returned Jennie, compelled by her conscience to admit at least part of the truth. “Perhaps I did.”
“He has never said anything out of the way to you, has he?”
“No,” answered her daughter, who did not attach any suspicion of evil to what had passed between them.
If the mother had only gone a little bit further she might have learned more, but she was only too glad, for her own peace of mind, to hush the matter up. People were slandering a good man, that she knew. Jennie had been the least bit indiscreet. People were always so ready to talk. How could the poor girl, amid such unfortunate circumstances, do otherwise than she did. It made her cry to think of it.
The result of it all was that she decided to get the washing herself.
She came to his door the next Monday after this decision. Brander, who was expecting Jennie, was both surprised and disappointed.
“Why,” he said to her, “what has become of Jennie?”
Having hoped that he would not notice, or, at least, not comment upon the change, Mrs. Gerhardt did not know what to say. She looked up at him weakly in her innocent, motherly way, and said, “She couldn’t come to-night.”
“Not ill, is she?” he inquired.
“No.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said resignedly. “How have you been?”
Mrs. Gerhardt answered his kindly inquiries and departed. After she had gone he got to thinking the matter over, and wondered what could have happened. It seemed rather odd that he should be wondering over it.
On Saturday, however, when she returned the clothes he felt that there must be something wrong.
“What’s the matter, Mrs. Gerhardt?” he inquired. “Has anything happened to your daughter?”
“No, sir,” she returned, too troubled to wish to deceive him.
“Isn’t she coming for the laundry any more?”
“I— I—” ventured the mother, stammering in her perturbation; “she — they have been talking about her,” she at last forced herself to say.
“Who has been talking?” he asked gravely.
“The people here in the hotel.”
“Who, what people?” he interrupted, a touch of annoyance showing in his voice.
“The housekeeper.”
“The housekeeper, eh!” he exclaimed. “What has she got to say?”
The mother related to him her experience.
“And she told you that, did she?” he remarked in wrath. “She ventures to trouble herself about my affairs, does she? I wonder people can’t mind their own business without interfering with mine. Your daughter, Mrs. Gerhardt, is perfectly safe with me. I have no intention of doing her an injury. It’s a shame,” he added indignantly, “that a girl can’t come to my room in this hotel without having her motive questioned. I’ll look into this matter.”
“I hope you don’t think that I have anything to do with it,” said the mother apologetically. “I know you like Jennie and wouldn’t injure her. You’ve done so much for her and all of us, Mr. Brander, I feel ashamed to keep her away.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Gerhardt,” he said quietly. “You did perfectly right. I don’t blame you in the least. It is the lying accusation passed about in this hotel that I object to. We’ll see about that.”
Mrs. Gerhardt stood there, pale with excitement. She was afraid she had deeply offended this man who had done so much for them. If she could only say something, she thought, that would clear this matter up and make him feel that she was no tattler. Scandal was distressing to her.
“I thought I was doing everything for the best,” she said at last.
“So you were,” he replied. “I like Jennie very much. I have always enjoyed her coming here. It is my intention to do well by her, but perhaps it will be better to keep her away, at least for the present.”
Again that evening the Senator sat in his easy-chair and brooded over this new development. Jennie was really much more precious to him than he had thought. Now that he had no hope of seeing her there any more, he began to realise how much these little visits of hers had meant. He thought the matter over very carefully, realised instantly that there was nothing to be done so far as the hotel gossip was concerned, and concluded that he had really placed the girl in a very unsatisfactory position.
“Perhaps I had better end this little affair,” he thought. “It isn’t a wise thing to pursue.”
On the strength of this conclusion he went to Washington and finished his term. Then he returned to Columbus to await the friendly recognition from the President which was to send him upon some ministry abroad. Jennie had not been forgotten in the least. The longer he stayed away the more eager he was to get back. When he was again permanently settled in his old quarters he took up his cane one morning, and strolled out in the direction of the cottage. Arriving there, he made up his mind to go in, and knocking at the door, he was greeted by Mrs. Gerhardt and her daughter with astonished and diffident smiles. He explained vaguely that he had been away, and mentioned his laundry as if that were the object of his visit. Then, when chance gave him a few moments with Jennie alone, he plunged in boldly.
“How would you like to take a drive with me tomorrow evening?” he asked.
“I’d like it,” said Jennie, to whom the proposition was a glorious novelty.
He smiled and patted her cheek, foolishly happy to see her again. Every day seemed to add to her beauty. Graced with her clean white apron, her shapely head crowned by the glory of her simply plaited hair, she was a pleasing sight for any man to look upon.
He waited until Mrs. Gerhardt returned, and then, having accomplished the purpose of his visit, he arose.
“I’m going to take your daughter out riding tomorrow evening,” he explained. “I want to talk to her about her future.”
“Won’t that be nice?” said the mother. She saw nothing incongruous in the proposal. They parted with
