When Jennie came her mother turned to her instinctively; here was her one stay.
“What’s the matter, ma?” asked Jennie as she opened the door and observed her mother’s face. “What have you been crying about?”
Mrs. Gerhardt looked at her, and then turned half away.
“Pa’s had his hands burned,” put in Bass solemnly. “He’ll be home to-morrow.”
Jennie turned and stared at him. “His hands burned!” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” said Bass.
“How did it happen?”
“A pot of glass was turned over.”
Jennie looked at her mother, and her eyes dimmed with tears. Instinctively she ran to her and put her arms around her.
“Now, don’t you cry, ma,” she said, barely able to control herself. “Don’t you worry. I know how you feel, but we’ll get along. Don’t cry now.” Then her own lips lost their evenness, and she struggled long before she could pluck up courage to contemplate this new disaster. And now without volition upon her part there leaped into her consciousness a new and subtly persistent thought. What about Lester’s offer of assistance now? What about his declaration of love? Somehow it came back to her—his affection, his personality, his desire to help her, his sympathy, so like that which Brander had shown when Bass was in jail. Was she doomed to a second sacrifice? Did it really make any difference? Wasn’t her life a failure already? She thought this over as she looked at her mother sitting there so silent, haggard, and distraught. “What a pity,” she thought, “that her mother must always suffer! Wasn’t it a shame that she could never have any real happiness?”