As a matter of fact, this man, so superior to Jennie in wealth, education, and social position, felt an instinctive interest in her unusual personality. Like the others, he was attracted by the peculiar softness of her disposition and her pre-eminent femininity. There was that about her which suggested the luxury of love. He felt as if somehow she could be reached why, he could not have said. She did not bear any outward marks of her previous experience. There were no evidences of coquetry about her, but still he “felt that he might.” He was inclined to make the venture on his first visit, but business called him away; he left after four days and was absent from Cleveland for three weeks. Jennie thought he was gone for good, and she experienced a queer sense of relief as well as of regret. Then, suddenly, he returned. He came apparently unexpectedly, explaining to Mrs. Bracebridge that business interests again demanded his presence in Cleveland. As he spoke he looked at Jennie sharply, and she felt as if somehow his presence might also concern her a little. On this second visit she had various opportunities of seeing him, at breakfast, where she sometimes served, at dinner, when she could see the guests at the table from the parlor or sitting-room, and at odd times when he came to Mrs. Bracebridge’s boudoir to talk things over. They were very friendly. “Why don’t you settle down, Lester, and get married?” Jennie heard her say to him the second day he was there. “You know it’s time.” “I know,” he replied, “but I’m in no mood for that. I want to browse around a little while yet.” “Yes, I know about your browsing. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Your father is really worried.” He chuckled amusedly. “Father doesn’t worry much about me. He has got all he can attend to to look after the business.” Jennie looked at him curiously. She scarcely understood what she was thinking, but this man drew her. If she had realized in what way she would have fled his presence then and there. Now he was more insistent in his observation of her—addressed an occasional remark to her—engaged her in brief, magnetic conversations. She could not help answering him—he was pleasing to her. Once he came across her in the hall on the second floor searching in a locker for some linen. They were all alone, Mrs. Bracebridge having gone out to do some morning shopping and the other servants being below stairs. On this occasion he made short work of the business. He approached her in a commanding, unhesitating, and thoroughly determined way. “I want to talk to you,” he said. “Where do you live?” “I—I—” she stammered, and blanched perceptibly. “I live out on Lorrie Street.” “What number?” he questioned, as though she were compelled to tell him. She quailed and shook inwardly. “Thirteen fourteen,” she replied mechanically.