Mid-August saw them on their way to Chicago. Kate had taken care
of Mrs. Jardine a few days while Jennie Weeks went home to see her
mother and arrange for her new work. She had no intention of
going back to school teaching. She preferred to brush Mrs.
Jardine's hair, button her shoes, write her letters, and read to
her.
In a month, Jennie had grown so deft at her work and made herself
so appreciated, that she was practically indispensable to the
elderly woman, and therefore the greatest comfort to John.
Immediately he saw that his mother was properly cared for,
sympathetically and even lovingly, he made it his business to
smooth Jennie's path in every way possible. In turn she studied
him, and in many ways made herself useful to him. Often she
looked at him with large and speculative eyes as he sat reading
letters, or papers, or smoking.
The world was all right with Kate when they crossed the sand dunes
as they neared the city. She was sorry about the situation in her
home, but she smiled sardonically as she thought how soon her
father would forget his anger when he heard about the city home
and the kind of farm she could have, merely by consenting to take
it. She was that sure of John Jardine; yet he had not asked her
to marry him. He had seemed on the verge of it a dozen times, and
then had paused as if better judgment told him it would be wise to
wait a little longer. Now Kate had concluded that there was a
definite thing he might be waiting for, since that talk about
land.
She thought possibly she understood what it was. He was a
business man; he knew nothing else; he said so frankly. He wanted
to show her his home, his business, his city, his friends, and
then he required -- he had almost put it into words -- that he be
shown her home and her people. Kate not only acquiesced, she
approved. She wanted to know as much of a man she married as
Nancy Ellen had known, and Robert had taken her to his home and
told his people she was his betrothed wife before he married her.
Kate's eyes were wide open and her brain busy, as they entered a
finely appointed carriage and she heard John say: "Rather sultry.
Home down the lake shore, George." She wished their driver had
not been named "George," but after all it made no difference.
There could not be a commoner name than John, and she knew of but
one that she liked better. For the ensuing three days she lived
in a Lake Shore home of wealth. She watched closely not to trip
in the heavy rugs and carpets. She looked at wonderful paintings
and long shelves of books. She never had touched such china, or
tasted such food or seen so good service. She understood why John
had opposed his mother's undertaking the trip without him, for
everyone in the house seemed busy serving the little woman.