“Oh, but you’re so much more placed in the world now, Lester,” she argued. “You can’t do it. Look how much it costs to run this house alone. And a million and a half of dollars—why, I wouldn’t let you think of losing that. I’ll go myself first.” “Where would you think of going if it came to that?” he asked curiously. “Oh, I’d find some place. Do you remember that little town of Sandwood, this side of Kenosha? I have often thought it would be a pleasant place to live.” “I don’t like to think of this,” he said finally in an outburst of frankness. “It doesn’t seem fair. The conditions have all been against this union of ours. I suppose I should have married you in the first place. I’m sorry now that I didn’t.” Jennie choked in her throat, but said nothing. “Anyhow, this won’t be the last of it, if I can help it,” he concluded. He was thinking that the storm might blow over; once he had the money, and then—but he hated compromises and subterfuges. It came by degrees to be understood that, toward the end of February, she should look around at Sandwood and see what she could find. She was to have ample means, he told her, everything that she wanted. After a time he might come out and visit her occasionally. And he was determined in his heart that he would make some people pay for the trouble they had caused him. He decided to send for Mr. O’Brien shortly and talk things over. He wanted for his personal satisfaction to tell him what he thought of him. At the same time, in the background of his mind, moved the shadowy figure of Mrs. Gerald—charming, sophisticated, well placed in every sense of the word. He did not want to give her the broad reality of full thought, but she was always there. He thought and thought. “Perhaps I’d better,” he half concluded. When February came he was ready to act. CHAPTER LIV The little town of Sandwood, “this side of Kenosha,” as Jennie had expressed it, was only a short distance from Chicago, an hour and fifteen minutes by the local train. It had a population of some three hundred families, dwelling in small cottages, which were scattered over a pleasant area of lake-shore property. They were not rich people. The houses were not worth more than from three to five thousand dollars each, but, in most cases, they were harmoniously constructed, and the surrounding trees, green for the entire year, gave them a pleasing summery appearance. Jennie, at the time they had passed by there—it was an outing taken behind a pair of fast horses—had admired the look of a little white church steeple, set down among green trees, and the gentle rocking of the boats upon the summer water. “I should like to live in a place like this some time,” she had said to Lester, and he had made the comment that it was a little too peaceful for him. “I can imagine getting to the place where I might like this, but not now. It’s too withdrawn.”