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 dénouement to her life she could not guess. Sandwood life was not without its charms for a lover of nature, and this, with the devotion of Vesta, offered some slight solace. There was the beauty of the lake, which, with its passing boats, was a never-ending source of joy, and there were many charming drives in the surrounding country. Jennie had her own horse and carryall—one of the horses of the pair they had used in Hyde Park. Other household pets appeared in due course of time, including a collie, that Vesta named Rats; she had brought him from Chicago as a puppy, and he had grown to be a sterling watch-dog, sensible and affectionate. There was also a cat, Jimmy Woods, so called after a boy Vesta knew, and to whom she insisted the cat bore a marked resemblance. There was a singing thrush, guarded carefully against a roving desire for bird-food on the part of Jimmy Woods, and a jar of goldfish. So this little household drifted along quietly and dreamily indeed, but always with the undercurrent of feeling which ran so still because it was so deep. There was no word from Lester for the first few weeks following his departure; he was too busy following up the threads of his new commercial connections and too considerate to wish to keep Jennie in a state of mental turmoil over communications which, under the present circumstances, could mean nothing. He preferred to let matters rest for the time being; then a little later he would write her sanely and calmly of how things were going. He did this after the silence of a month, saying that he had been pretty well pressed by commercial affairs, that he had been in and out of the city frequently (which was the truth), and that he would probably be away from Chicago a large part of the time in the future. He inquired after Vesta and the condition of affairs generally at Sandwood. “I may get up there one of these days,” he suggested, but he really did not mean to come, and Jennie knew that he did not.