“Yes, but you don’t realize it. You never will until it is too late.”
“I love that girl,” he thought to himself that night. “I wish I could have her with me always.”
But fortune had another fling for him to endure. It got about the hotel that Jennie was, to use the mildest expression, conducting herself strangely. A girl who carries washing must expect criticism if anything not befitting her station is observed in her apparel. Jennie was seen wearing the gold watch. Her mother was informed by the housekeeper of the state of things.
“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.