It was wrong for me ever to have anything to do with Senator Brander, but I was such a girl then—I hardly knew what I was doing. It was wrong of me not to tell you about Vesta when I first met you, though I thought I was doing right when I did it. It was terribly wrong of me to keep her here all that time concealed, Lester, but I was afraid of you then—afraid of what you would say and do. When your sister Louise came it all came over me somehow, clearly, and I have never been able to think right about it since. It can’t be right, Lester, but I don’t blame you. I blame myself. “I don’t ask you to marry me, Lester. I know how you feel about me and how you feel about your family, and I don’t think it would be right. They would never want you to do it, and it isn’t right that I should ask you. At the same time I know I oughtn’t to go on living this way. Vesta is getting along where she understands everything. She thinks you are her really truly uncle. I have thought of it all so much. I have thought a number of times that I would try to talk to you about it, but you frighten me when you get serious, and I don’t seem to be able to say what I want to. So I thought if I could just write you this and then go you would understand. You do, Lester, don’t you? You won’t be angry with me? I know it’s for the best for you and for me. I ought to do it. Please forgive me, Lester, please; and don’t think of me any more. I will get along. But I love you—oh yes, I do—and I will never be grateful enough for all you have done for me. I wish you all the luck that can come to you. Please forgive me, Lester. I love you, yes, I do. I love you. “JENNIE. “P. S. I expect to go to Cleveland with papa. He needs me. He is all alone. But don’t come for me, Lester. It’s best that you shouldn’t.” She put this in an envelope, sealed it, and, having hidden it in her bosom, for the time being, awaited the hour when she could conveniently take her departure. It was several days before she could bring herself to the actual execution of the plan, but one afternoon, Lester, having telephoned that he would not be home for a day or two, she packed some necessary garments for herself and Vesta in several trunks, and sent for an expressman. She thought of telegraphing her father that she was coming; but, seeing he had no home, she thought it would be just as well to go and find him. George and Veronica had not taken all the furniture. The major portion of it was in storage—so Gerhardt had written. She might take that and furnish a little home or flat. She was ready for the end, waiting for the expressman, when the door opened and in walked Lester.