The significance of the material and spiritual changes which sometimes overtake us are not very clear at the time. A sense of shock, a sense of danger, and then apparently we subside to old ways, but the change has come. Never again, here or elsewhere, will we be the same. Jennie pondering after the subtle emotional turn which her evening’s sympathetic expedition had taken, was lost in a vague confusion of emotions. She had no definite realization of what social and physical changes this new relationship to the Senator might entail. She was not conscious as yet of that shock which the possibility of maternity, even under the most favorable conditions, must bring to the average woman. Her present attitude was one of surprise, wonder, uncertainty; and at the same time she experienced a genuine feeling of quiet happiness. Brander was a good man; now he was closer to her than ever. He loved her. Because of this new relationship a change in her social condition was to inevitably follow. Life was to be radically different from now on—was different at this moment. Brander assured her over and over of his enduring affection. “I tell you, Jennie,” he repeated, as she was leaving, “I don’t want you to worry. This emotion of mine got the best of me, but I’ll marry you. I’ve been carried off my feet, but I’ll make it up to you. Go home and say nothing at all. Caution your brother, if it isn’t too late. Keep your own counsel, and I will marry you and take you away. I can’t do it right now. I don’t want to do it here. But I’m going to Washington, and I’ll send for you. And here”—he reached for his purse and took from it a hundred dollars, practically all he had with him, “take that. I’ll send you more tomorrow. You’re my girl now—remember that. You belong to me.” He embraced her tenderly. She went out into the night, thinking. No doubt he would do as he said. She dwelt, in imagination, upon the possibilities of a new and fascinating existence. Of course he would marry her. Think of it! She would go to Washington—that far-off place. And her father and mother—they would not need to work so hard any more. And Bass, and Martha—she fairly glowed as she recounted to herself the many ways in which she could help them all. A block away she waited for Brander, who accompanied her to her own gate, and waited while she made a cautious reconnaissance. She slipped up the steps and tried the door. It was open. She paused a moment to indicate to her lover that she was safe, and entered. All was silent within. She slipped to her own room and heard Veronica breathing. She went quietly to where Bass slept with George. He was in bed, stretched out as if asleep. When she entered he asked, “Is that you, Jennie?” “Yes.” “Where have you been?” “Listen,” she whispered. “Have you seen papa and mamma?” “Yes.” “Did they know I had gone out?” “Ma did. She told me not to ask after you. Where have you been?” “I went to see Senator Brander for you.”