They talked for a few minutes, and then the Senator rose. "Tell your husband," he said, "to come and see me next Monday at my office in the hotel. I want to do something for him."

"Thank you," faltered Mrs. Gerhardt.

"I'll not stay any longer now," he added. "Don't forget to have him come."

"Oh, he'll come," she returned.

Adjusting a glove on one hand, he extended the other to Jennie.

"Here is your finest treasure, Mrs. Gerhardt," he said. "I think I'll take her."

"Well, I don't know," said the mother, "whether I could spare her or not."

"Well," said the Senator, going toward the door, and giving Mrs. Gerhardt his hand, "good-morning."

He nodded and walked out, while a half-dozen neighbours, who had

observe his entrance, peeked from behind curtains and drawn blinds at the astonishing sight.

"Who can that be, anyhow?" was the general query.

"See what he gave me," said the innocent mother to her daughter the moment he had closed the door.

It was a ten-dollar bill. He had placed it softly in her hand as he said

good-bye.

CHAPTER V

Having been led by circumstances into an attitude of obligation toward

the Senator, it was not unnatural that Jennie should become imbued with

a most generous spirit of appreciation for everything he had done and

now continued to do. The Senator gave her father a letter to a local mill owner, who saw that he received something to do. It was not much, to be

sure, a mere job as night-watchman, but it helped, and old Gerhardt's

gratitude was extravagant. Never was there such a great, such a good

man!

Nor was Mrs. Gerhardt overlooked. Once Brander sent her a dress, and at

another time a shawl. All these benefactions were made in a spirit of

mingled charity and self-gratification, but to Mrs. Gerhardt they glowed

with but one motive. Senator Brander was good-hearted.

As for Jennie, he drew nearer to her in every possible way, so that at last she came to see him in a light which would require considerable analysis

to make clear. This fresh, young soul, however, had too much innocence

and buoyancy to consider for a moment the world's point of view. Since

that one notable and halcyon visit upon which he had robbed her of her

original shyness, and implanted a tender kiss upon her cheek, they had

lived in a different atmosphere. Jennie was his companion now, and as he

more and more unbended, and even joyously flung aside the habiliments

of his dignity, her perception of him grew clearer. They laughed and

chatted in a natural way, and he keenly enjoyed this new entrance into the radiant world of youthful happiness.

One thing that disturbed him, however, was the occasional thought, which

he could not repress, that he was not doing right. Other people must soon discover that he was not confining himself strictly to conventional

relations, with this washer-woman's daughter. He suspected that the

housekeeper was not without knowledge that Jennie almost invariably

lingered from a quarter to three-quarters of an hour whenever she came

for or returned his laundry. He knew that it might come to the ears of the hotel clerks, and so, in a general way, get about town and work serious

injury, but the reflection did not cause him to modify his conduct.

Sometimes he consoled himself with the thought that he was not doing

her any actual harm, and at other times he would argue that he could not

put this one delightful tenderness out of his life. Did he not wish honestly to do her much good?

He thought of these things occasionally, and decided that he could not

stop. The self-approval which such a resolution might bring him was

hardly worth the inevitable pain of the abnegation. He had not so very

many more years to live. Why die unsatisfied?

One evening he put his arm around her and strained her to his breast.

Another time he drew her to his knee, and told her of his life at

Washington. Always now he had a caress and a kiss for her, but it was

still in a tentative, uncertain way. He did not want to reach for her soul too deeply.

Jennie enjoyed it all innocently. Elements of fancy and novelty entered

into her life. She was an unsophisticated creature, emotional, totally

inexperienced in the matter of the affections, and yet mature enough

mentally to enjoy the attentions of this great man who had thus bowed

from his high position to make friends with her.

One evening she pushed his hair back from his forehead as she stood by

his chair, and, finding nothing else to do, took out his watch. The great man thrilled as he looked at her pretty innocence.

"Would you like to have a watch, too?" he asked.

"Yes, indeed, I would," said Jennie with a deep breath.

The next day he stopped as he was passing a jewellery store and bought

one. It was gold, and had pretty ornamented hands.

"Jennie," he said, when she came the next time, "I want to show you something. See what time it is by my watch."

Jennie drew out the watch from his waistcoat pocket and started in

surprise.

"This isn't your watch!" she exclaimed, her face full of innocent wonder.

"No," he said, delighted with his little deception. "It's yours."

"Mine!" exclaimed Jennie. "Mine! Oh, isn't it lovely!"

"Do you think so?" he said.

Her delight touched and pleased him immensely. Her face shone with

light and her eyes fairly danced.

"That's yours," he said. "See that you wear it now, and don't lose it."

"You're so good!" she exclaimed.

"No," he said, but he held her at arm's length by the waist to make up his mind what his reward should be. Slowly he drew her toward him until,

when very close, she put her arms about his neck, and laid her cheek in

gratitude against his own. This was the quintessence of pleasure for him.

He felt as he had been longing to feel for years.

The progress of his idyl suffered a check when the great senatorial fight came on in the Legislature. Attacked by a combination of rivals, Brander

was given the fight of his life. To his amazement he discovered that a

great railroad corporation, which had always been friendly, was secretly

throwing its strength in behalf of an already too powerful candidate.

Shocked by this defection, he was thrown alternately into the deepest

gloom and into paroxysms of wrath. These slings of fortune, however

lightly he pretended to receive them, never failed to lacerate him. It had been long since he had suffered a defeat—too long.

During this period Jennie received her earliest lesson in the vagaries of man. For two weeks she did not even see him, and one evening, after an

extremely comfortless conference with his leader, he met her with the

most chilling formality. When she knocked at his door he only troubled to open it a foot, exclaiming almost harshly: "I can't bother about the clothes to-night. Come to- morrow."