Jennie Gerhardt - Драйзер Теодор - Страница 32

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find the right woman, and in Jennie he believed that he had discovered

her. She appealed to him on every side; he had never known anybody

quite like her. Marriage was not only impossible but unnecessary. He had

only to say "Come" and she must obey; it was her destiny.

Lester thought the matter over calmly, dispassionately. He strolled out to the shabby street where she lived; he looked at the humble roof that

sheltered her. Her poverty, her narrow and straightened environment

touched his heart. Ought he not to treat her generously, fairly,

honourably? Then the remembrance of her marvellous beauty swept over

him and changed his mood. No, he must possess her if he could—to-day,

quickly, as soon as possible. It was in that frame of mind that he returned to Mrs. Bracebridge's home from his visit to Lorrie Street.

Jennie was now going through the agony of one who has a varied and

complicated problem to confront. Her baby, her father, her brothers, and

her sisters all rose up to confront her. What was this thing that she was doing? Was she allowing herself to slip into another wretched,

unsanctified relationship? How was she to explain to her family about

this man? He would not marry her, that was sure, if he knew all about her.

He would not marry her, anyhow, a man of his station and position. Yet

here she was parleying with him. What ought she to do? She pondered

over the problem until evening, deciding first that it was best to run away, but remembering painfully that she had told him where she lived. Then

she resolved that she would summon up her courage and refuse him—tell

him she couldn't, wouldn't have anything to do with him. This last

solution of the difficulty seemed simple enough—in his absence. And she

would find work where he could not follow her up so easily. It all seemed simple enough as she put on her things in the evening to go home.

Her aggressive lover, however, was not without his own conclusion in

this matter. Since leaving Jennie he had thought concisely and to the

point. He came to the decision that he must act at once. She might tell her family, she might tell Mrs. Bracebridge, she might leave the city. He

wanted to know more of the conditions which surrounded her, and there

was only one way to do that—talk to her. He must persuade her to come

and live with him. She would, he thought. She admitted that she liked

him. That soft, yielding note in her character which had originally

attracted him seemed to presage that he could win her without much

difficulty, if he wished to try. He decided to do so, anyhow, for truly he desired her greatly.

At half-past five he returned to the Bracebridge home to see if she were

still there. At six he had an opportunity to say to her, unobserved, "I am going to walk home with you. Wait for me at the next corner, will you?"

"Yes," she said, a sense of compulsion to do his bidding seizing her. She explained to herself afterward that she ought to talk to him, that she must tell him finally of her decision not to see him again, and this was as good an opportunity as any. At half-past six he left the house on a pretext—a

forgotten engagement—and a little after seven he was waiting for her in a closed carriage near the appointed spot. He was calm, absolutely satisfied as to the result, and curiously elated beneath a sturdy, shock-proof

exterior. It was as if he breathed some fragrant perfume, soft, grateful, entrancing.

A few minutes after eight he saw Jennie coming along. The flare of the

gas-lamp was not strong, but it gave sufficient light for his eyes to make her out. A wave of sympathy passed over him, for there was a great

appeal in her personality. He stepped out as she neared the corner and

confronted her. "Come," he said, "and get in this carriage with me. I'll take you home."

"No," she replied. "I don't think I ought to."

"Come with me. I'll take you home. It's a better way to talk."

Once more that sense of dominance on his part, that power of

compulsion. She yielded, feeling all the time that she should not; he

called out to the cabman, "Anywhere for a little while." When she was seated beside him he began at once.

"Listen to me, Jennie, I want you. Tell me something about yourself."

"I have to talk to you," she replied, trying to stick to her original line of defence.

"About what?" he inquired, seeking to fathom her expression in the half light.

"I can't go on this way," she murmured nervously. "I can't act this way.

You don't know how it all is. I shouldn't have done what I did this

morning. I mustn't see you any more. Really I mustn't."

"You didn't do what you did this morning," he remarked, paradoxically, seizing on that one particular expression. "I did that. And as for seeing me any more, I'm going to see you." He seized her hand. "You don't know me, but I like you. I'm crazy about you, that's all. You belong to me. Now listen. I'm going to have you. Are you going to come to me?"

"No, no, no!" she replied in an agonised voice. "I can't do anything like that, Mr. Kane. Please listen to me. It can't be. You don't know. Oh, you don't know. I can't do what you want. I don't want to. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. You don't know how things are. But I don't want to do

anything wrong. I mustn't. I can't. I won't. Oh, no! no!! no!!! Please let me go home."

He listened to this troubled, feverish outburst with sympathy, with even a little pity.

"What do you mean by you can't?" he asked, curiously.

"Oh, I can't tell you," she replied. "Please don't ask me. You oughtn't to know. But I mustn't see you any more. It won't do any good."

"But you like me," he retorted.

"Oh yes, yes, I do. I can't help that. But you mustn't come near me any more. Please don't."

He turned his proposition over in his mind with the solemnity of a judge.

He knew that this girl liked him—loved him really, brief as their contact had been. And he was drawn to her, perhaps not irrevocably, but with

exceeding strength. What prevented her from yielding, especially since

she wanted to? He was curious.

"See here, Jennie," he replied. "I hear what you say. I don't know what you mean by 'can't' if you want to. You say you like me. Why can't you

come to me? You're my sort. We will get along beautifully together.

You're suited to me temperamentally. I'd like to have you with me. What

makes you say you can't come?"

"I can't," she replied. "I can't. I don't want to. I oughtn't. Oh, please don't ask me any more. You don't know. I can't tell you why." She was thinking of her baby.

The man had a keen sense of justice and fair play. Above all things he

wanted to be decent in his treatment of people. In this case he intended to be tender and considerate, and yet he must win her. He turned this over in his mind.

"Listen to me," he said finally, still holding her hand. "I may not want you to do anything immediately. I want you to think it over. But you belong to me. You say you care for me. You admitted that this morning. I know you

do. Now why should you stand out against me? I like you, and I can do a

lot of things for you. Why not let us be good friends now? Then we can

talk the rest of this over later."

"But I mustn't do anything wrong," she insisted. "I don't want to. Please don't come near me any more. I can't do what you want."

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