e passed over lightly. The
explanation she had to make to Vesta was of all the most important.
This little girl, who was old enough now to see and think for herself,
was not without her surmises and misgivings. Vesta recalled that her
mother had been accused of not being married to her father when she
was born. She had seen the article about Jennie and Lester in the
Sunday paper at the time it had appeared--it had been shown to
her at school--but she had had sense enough to say nothing about
it, feeling somehow that Jennie would not like it. Lester's
disappearance was a complete surprise; but she had learned in the last
two or three years that her mother was very sensitive, and that she
could hurt her in unexpected ways. Jennie was finally compelled to
tell Vesta that Lester's fortune had been dependent on his leaving
her, solely because she was not of his station. Vesta listened soberly
and half suspected the truth. She felt terribly sorry for her mother,
and, because of Jennie's obvious distress, she was trebly gay and
courageous. She refused outright the suggestion of going to a
boarding-school and kept as close to her mother as she could. She
found interesting books to read with her, insisted that they go to see
plays together, played to her on the piano, and asked for her mother's
criticisms on her drawing and modeling. She found a few friends in the
excellent Sand wood school, and brought them home of an evening to add
lightness and gaiety to the cottage life. Jennie, through her growing
appreciation of Vesta's fine character, became more and more drawn
toward her. Lester was gone, but at least she had Vesta. That prop
would probably sustain her in the face of a waning existence.

There was also her history to account for to the residents of
Sandwood. In many cases where one is content to lead a secluded life
it is not necessary to say much of one's past, but as a rule something
must be said. People have the habit of inquiring--if they are no
more than butchers and bakers. By degrees one must account for this
and that fact, and it was so here. She could not say that her husband
was dead. Lester might come back. She had to say that she had left
him--to give the impression that it would be she, if any one, who
would permit him to return. This put her in an interesting and
sympathetic light in the neighborhood. It was the most sensible thing
to do. She then settled down to a quiet routine of existence, waiting
what