CHAPTER XXXI
There was peace and quiet for some time after this storm. Jenniewent the next day and brought Vesta away with her. The joy of thereunion between mother and child made up for many other worries. "NowI can do by her as I ought," she thought; and three or four timesduring the day she found herself humming a little song.
Lester came only occasionally at first. He was trying to makehimself believe that he ought to do something toward reforming hislife--toward bringing about that eventual separation which he hadsuggested. He did not like the idea of a child being in thisapartment--particularly that particular child. He fought his waythrough a period of calculated neglect, and then began to return tothe apartment more regularly. In spite of all its drawbacks, it was aplace of quiet, peace, and very notable personal comfort.
During the first days of Lester's return it was difficult forJennie to adjust matters so as to keep the playful, nervous, almostuncontrollable child from annoying the staid, emphatic,commercial-minded man. Jennie gave Vesta a severe talking to the firstnight Lester telephoned that he was coming, telling her that he was avery bad-tempered man who didn't like children, and that she mustn'tgo near him. "You mustn't talk," she said. "You mustn't ask questions.Let mamma ask you what you want. And don't reach, ever."
Vesta agreed solemnly, but her childish mind hardly grasped thefull significance of the warning.
Lester came at seven. Jennie, who had taken great pains to arrayVesta as attractively as possible, had gone into her bedroom to giveher own toilet a last touch. Vesta was supposedly in the kitchen. As amatter of fact, she had followed her mother to the door of thesitting-room, where now she could be plainly seen. Lester hung up hishat and coat, then, turning, he caught his first glimpse. The childlooked very sweet--he admitted that at a glance. She was arrayedin a blue-dotted, white flannel dress, with a soft roll collar andcuffs, and the costume was completed by white stockings and shoes. Hercorn-colored ringlets hung gaily about her face. Blue eyes, rosy lips,rosy cheeks completed the picture. Lester stared, almost inclined tosay something, but restrained himself. Vesta shyly retreated.
When Jennie came out he commented on the fact that Vesta hadarrived. "Rather sweet-looking child," he said. "Do you have muchtrouble in making her mind?"
"Not much," she returned.
Jennie went on to the dining-room, and Lester overheard a scrap oftheir conversation.
"Who are he?" asked Vesta.
"Sh! That's your Uncle Lester. Didn't I tell you you mustn'ttalk?"
"Are he your uncle?"
"No, dear. Don't talk now. Run into the kitchen."
"Are he only my uncle?"
"Yes. Now run along."
"All right."
In spite of himself Lester had to smile.
What might have followed if the child had been homely, misshapen,peevish, or all three, can scarcely be conjectured. Had Jennie beenless tactful, even in the beginning, he might have obtained adisagreeable impression. As it was, the natural beauty of the child,combined with the mother's gentle diplomacy in keeping her in thebackground, served to give him that fleeting glimpse of innocence andyouth which is always pleasant. The thought struck him that Jennie hadbeen the mother of a child all these years; she had been separatedfrom it for months at a time; she had never even hinted at itsexistence, and yet her affection for Vesta was obviously great. "It'squeer," he said. "She's a peculiar woman."
One morning Lester was sitting in the parlor reading his paper whenhe thought he heard something stir. He turned, and was surprised tosee a large blue eye fixed upon him through the crack of a neighboringdoor--the effect was most disconcerting. It was not like theordinary eye, which, under such embarrassing circumstances, would havebeen immediately withdrawn; it kept its position with deliberateboldness. He turned his paper solemnly and looked again. There was theeye. He turned it again. Still was the eye present. He crossed hislegs and looked again. Now the eye was gone.
This little episode, unimportant in itself, was yet informed withthe saving grace of comedy, a thing to which Lester was especiallyresponsive. Although not in the least inclined to relax his attitudeof aloofness, he found his mind, in the minutest degree, tickled bythe mysterious appearance; the corners of his mouth were animated by adesire to turn up. He did not give way to the feeling, and stuck byhis paper, but the incident remained very clearly in his mind. Theyoung wayfarer had made her first really important impression uponhim.
Not long after this Lester was sitting one morning at breakfast,calmly eating his chop and conning his newspaper, when he was arousedby another visitation--this time not quite so simple. Jennie hadgiven Vesta her breakfast, and set her to amuse herself alone untilLester should leave the house. Jennie was seated at the table, pouringout the coffee, when Vesta suddenly appeared, very business-like inmanner, and marched through the room. Lester looked up, and Jenniecolored and arose.
"What is it, Vesta?" she inquired, following her.
By this time, however, Vesta had reached the kitchen, secured alittle broom, and returned, a droll determination lighting herface.
"I want my little broom," she exclaimed and marched sedately past,at which manifestation of spirit Lester again twitched internally,this time allowing the slightest suggestion of a smile to play acrosshis mouth.
The final effect of this intercourse was gradually to break downthe feeling of distaste Lester had for the child, and to establish inits place a sort of tolerant recognition of her possibilities as ahuman being.
The developments of the next six months were of a kind to furtherrelax the strain of opposition which still existed in Lester's mind.Although not at all resigned to the somewhat tainted atmosphere inwhich he was living, he yet found himself so comfortable that he couldnot persuade himself to give it up. It was too much like a bed ofdown. Jennie was too worshipful. The condition of unquestionedliberty, so far as all his old social relationships were concerned,coupled with the privilege of quiet, simplicity, and affection in thehome was too inviting. He lingered on, and began to feel that perhapsit would be just as well to let matters rest as they were.
During this period his friendly relations with the little Vestainsensibly strengthened. He discovered that there was a real flavor ofhumor about Vesta's doings, and so came to watch for its development.She was forever doing something interesting, and although Jenniewatched over her with a care that was in itself a revelation to him,nevertheless Vesta managed to elude every effort to suppress her andcame straight home with her remarks. Once, for example, she was sawingaway at a small piece of meat upon her large plate with her big knife,when Lester remarked to Jennie that it might be advisable to get her alittle breakfast set.
"She can hardly handle these knives."
"Yes," said Vesta instantly. "I need a little knife. My hand isjust so very little."
She held it up. Jennie, who never could tell what was to follow,reached over and put it down, while Lester with difficulty restraineda desire to laugh.
Another morning, not long after, she was watching Jennie put thelumps of sugar in Lester's cup, when she broke in with, "I want twolumps in mine, mamma."
"No, dearest," replied Jennie, "you don't need any in yours. Youhave milk to drink."
"Uncle Lester has two," she protested.
"Yes," returned Jennie; "but you're only a little girl. Besides youmustn't say anything like that at the table. It isn't nice."
"Uncle Lester eats too much sugar," was her immediate rejoinder, atwhich that fine gourmet smiled broadly.
"I don't know about that," he put in, for the first time deigningto answer her directly. "That sounds like the fox and grapes to me."Vesta smiled back at him, and now that the ice was broken shechattered on unrestrainedly. One thing led to another, and at lastLester felt as though, in a way, the little girl belonged to him; hewas willing even that she should share in such opportunities as hisposition and wealth might make possible--provided, of course,that he stayed with Jennie, and that they worked out some arrangementwhich
would not put him hopelessly out of touch with the world whichwas back of him, and which he had to keep constantly in mind.
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