“A man with a little money,” said Mr. Watson, “is just like a cat with a bell around its neck. Every rat knows exactly where it is and what it is doing.”
“That’s an apt simile,” assented Lester, bitterly.
Jennie knew nothing of this newspaper story for several days. Lester felt that he could not talk it over, and Gerhardt never read the wicked Sunday newspapers. Finally, one of Jennie’s neighborhood friends, less tactful than the others, called her attention to the fact of its appearance by announcing that she had seen it. Jennie did not understand at first. “A story about me?” she exclaimed.
“You and Mr. Kane, yes,” replied her guest. “Your love romance.”
Jennie colored swiftly. “Why, I hadn’t seen it,” she said. “Are you sure it was about us?”
“Why, of course,” laughed Mrs. Stendahl. “How could I be mistaken? I have the paper over at the house. I’ll send Marie over with it when I get back. You look very sweet in your picture.”
Jennie winced.
“I wish you would,” she said, weakly.
She was wondering where they had secured her picture, what the article said. Above all, she was dismayed to think of its effect upon Lester. Had he seen the article? Why had he not spoken to her about it?
The neighbor’s daughter brought over the paper, and Jennie’s heart stood still as she glanced at the title-page. There it all was—uncompromising and direct. How dreadfully conspicuous the headline—“This Millionaire Fell in Love With This Lady’s Maid,” which ran between a picture of Lester on the left and Jennie on the right. There was an additional caption which explained how Lester, son of the famous carriage family of Cincinnati, had sacrificed great social opportunity and distinction to marry his heart’s desire. Below were scattered a number of other pictures—Lester addressing Jennie in the mansion of Mrs. Bracebridge, Lester standing with her before an imposing and conventional-looking parson, Lester driving with her in a handsome victoria, Jennie standing beside the window of an imposing mansion (the fact that it was a mansion being indicated by most sumptuous-looking hangings) and gazing out on a very modest working-man’s cottage pictured in the distance. Jennie felt as though she must die for very shame. She did not so much mind what it meant to her, but Lester, Lester, how must he feel? And his family? Now they would have another club with which to strike him and her. She tried to keep calm about it, to exert emotional control, but again the tears would rise, only this time they were tears of opposition to defeat. She did not want to be hounded this way. She wanted to be let alone. She was trying to do right now. Why couldn’t the world help her, instead of seeking to push her down?