With Bobs and the Chatfields away, and his uptown friends believing him to be off on a cruise, Jerry settled himself to long-neglected work, but nothing went well. He was out of work habits, he missed his intimates, he descended into the depths of discouragement and despair.
It was on a day of gloom within and gloom without that he set every canvas in the studio in a row before him. He went slowly from one to another and studied them all. Into this funereal stock-taking Jane entered. The deep distress on his face stopped her.
"What's the matter, Mr. Paxton?"
"Jane Judd, why do you suppose I ever thought I could paint?"
"Has anything happened?"
"These have happened! Look at this collection of wax-works! Bad drawing, no style, paint put on with a squirt gun."
"There is nothing like taking a good square look at what you have been doing, to make you mend your ways," she said, but he was not listening. He was enjoying his despair.
"I'll smash the whole lot of them. I never want to see them again!" He struck a wet brush across the nearest one, but Jane seized his arm.
"Don't do that."
"I can't live in the room with them."
"All right. Send them up to the storage room."
She began to move them off and stack them against the door. Jerry threw himself down on the couch, moodily. He scarcely noticed when the janitor, answering Jane's summons, carried them all off to the top floor.
"Now you've got a clean slate you can begin again," Jane said, and went about her work.
"I shall give it up. I'll never paint again."
She made no comment, but she smiled to herself. She knew "her children," as she called them.
"Can't you stop fussing around, and come and talk to me?"
"I have work to do."
He came to the door of the bedroom.
"What work?"
"I'm going to clean this room."
"Why do you bother with us, Jane Judd?" he inquired.
"I have to make my living."
"But you can doanything."
"Go away, now, I'm going to make a dust," she smilingly suggested.
He obeyed, but she heard him walking the studio, up and down. Presently he came to the door again.
"Couldn't you find something to do in the studio? I'm so desperately lonesome to-day."
Her own heart had prompted that phrase too often to let her smile at it.
"All right, in a few minutes. I'll find some mending to do."
After a while she came into the studio, and sat down by the big window, her sewing basket beside her. Jerry watched her quiet directness of movement. He noted the straight line of her back, the bend of her dark head outlined against the gray sheets of rain outside. Her sombre gown was relieved by a splash of red, gold, and blue Chinese embroidery, which she was mending.
"I'm always wondering lately, what you are thinking about, Jane Judd," he said.
"At this moment, I am thinking that it was careless to let this beautiful thing be torn."
"I didn't mean to intrude."
She bowed without reply.
"I'm going to make a study of you. It's interesting, that gray window, the rain and all."
He set up an easel and got a board ready.
"I've never known anybody to be as still as you are. It's a positive talent.... There's no sense in your doing your hair that way. Ever since the night of the pageant I have wondered how you could bear to make yourself plain. How can you?"
"My looks don't count. I have no time to spend on myself."
"Holy Ananias! hear this woman! Is she human?"
She smiled, not looking at him, but lifting her head and smiling into space. They were silent for a while. She felt his complete absorption in his work, this big little boy who half an hour earlier had sworn he would never paint again.
"You're work atmosphere for me, Jane Judd. I shouldengage you by the week, to just sit in my studio. How would you like that?"
"I would not consider it, thanks."
"Why not?"
"I have many things to do."
"I think being inspiration to a painter would be more desirable for a woman than just looking after studios."
"I think doing her own work, whatever it is, is the most important thing for a woman."
"Heavens! Jane Judd, are you one of these 'woman's rights, right or wrong' preachers? You aren't a suffragette, and a freewomaner, are you?"
"Yes."
"Have we nourished a bomb in the studios all these years? Don't get me started on the woman question. I'm a regular cave man."
"All right, I won't get you started."
"It was a great mistake to begin giving woman an education. It has messed things up dreadfully."
"For women, you mean?"
"No, for men."
"Oh."
"You don't think that matters?"
"Not especially. The progress of the world is what matters, isn't it? Change is always uncomfortable."
"You've got everything to gain; we're the only losers, so no wonder you're reconciled to it."
"No, we'll all gain by a fairer adjustment. It is just as uncomfortable for women, now, as it is for men. Afterall, how can it help but be, since we live our lives together, since our main interests are one."
"But we aren't going on living together! Men are getting sick of it. If women don't let up on these demands we are going to stop marrying them altogether."
Jane tried not to laugh.
"What about the demands men have always made on women?"
"Those were natural demands."
"Habitual, you mean.
"We can run the world very well indeed without this army of half-baked females, thank you."
"Can you? That's an interesting discovery. What method have you invented for populating the world you can run without us?"
"Don't talk about it. It always makes me mad!"
"All right," Jane agreed sweetly.
"I suppose you pride yourself on keeping your temper."
"No. But people who have anything to win never profit by losing their tempers."
"You don't look like a female freebooter. You're the arch-type of womanly woman. At this moment, you look like the priestess of the home."
He wondered at the slow flush that came up over her neck and face, the strange yearning look that was gone before he half saw it. He painted on, speculating about her, while Jane fought for composure.
In the weeks since her first visit from Christiansen, a new world had opened for Jane, a new infection swept through her blood. Cooper Union had opened up onefield, Union Square another. She had joined a class in New York University for a historic study of Woman, her biologic and economic aspects, her accomplishments and her ambitions. She talked to people everywhere, these days. She made friends with a group of girls in the class, and invited them to her room.
Once a week, or oftener, Christiansen took her somewhere with him, to hear some music, to see a play, or to meet some interesting people. Their friendship had developed until it was the very centre of her life, but it brought with it the usual toll. It loosed all the wants of her nature; needs and demands she had not dreamed of sprang into being, into urgency. She wanted love, children, a mate. The old intellectual satisfactions were gone, swept away on the tide of these new emotions.
No thought of Martin Christiansen entered her head, in this relation. She thought of him as one of the gods, high above, upon remote peaks, descending now and then to help and inspire some stumbling mortal, even as he had rescued her. She knew him as the perfect friend, and as such she valued him.
It was the confluence of all these causes which made her drop her mask for a second, when Jerry called her high priestess of the home.
"I had a letter from the Bryce Cricket to-day. She sent her love to you," he said, changing the subject.
"Thanks. She writes you, does she?"
"Yes, the little idiot."
"Are her parents back yet?"
"They all come next week."
"You begin the portraits then?"
"I suppose so."
"Miss Morton is very lovely, you will like painting her."
"Women are a great bother, Jane Judd," he sighed.
"Like men."
He laughed at that, and stood back to view his work.
"This is good. It has a sort of haunting quality, that is yours."
The door was flung open, and Bobs rushed in.
"Jerry, you are home!" she cried, both hands out.
"Bobs! Welcome back! My eye, it's fine to see you. I nearly died of loneliness."
"Did you? Did you miss me?"
"Rather. Ask Jane."
"Oh, good-morning, Jane Judd," Bobs said.
Jane greeted her, rose, gathered her things, and went into the bedroom.
"Jerry, how well you look. Did you have a good time?"
"So-so."
"You came back sooner than I expected you."
"Yes—I wanted to get to work."
"Are you engaged to Miss Morton?"
"Nonsense! Of course not."
"Oh, I'm so glad," with a deep sigh.
Jane passed through on her way out, nodding good-bye to them.
"How was the Philadelphia show, Bobs?"
"Good. I got a first."
"What? And you stand here babbling about my doings when you got a first? Why, bless your old heart, I'm crazy about it!" he cried.
She came and put her two hands on his shoulders, looking into his face.
"Are you glad, Jerry?"
He put his hands over hers.
"I'm delighted. I'm proud of you."
She leaned her forehead against his coat. He felt her body shake, as she tried to swallow the sobs.
"What is it, honey-girl? What is the matter?"
"Oh, it's nothing. Only I'm so glad you're pleased, and so relieved you aren't engaged to Miss Morton."
"Bobs, you goose——"
"I just couldn't stand it, Jerry, to have you married to just a rich woman."
"I'm not going to marry any rich woman, Bobs, you can count on that. They are all too full of themselves. The only woman I shall ever marry will have just one career."
"What, Jerry?"
"Her career will be Jerry Paxton! Selfish, if you like, but that is the only way I can ever get away with matrimony. I don't like marriage, I hate being tied down, you know how I hate it. If I married a woman with a career of her own, with the independence and egotism which come to women with careers, why— Lord, Bobs, I'd end by murdering her!"
"You're the most selfish human being in the world, Jerry!"
"No, I'm like the majority of men, only I say it out and the rest keep it dark."
"But you can't pick out the person you intend to love, Jerry. It doesn't happen that way. Love gets you, torments you, numbs your brain, upsets your mind."
"He won't get me, Bobs. I'm on guard."
"Some of us go on guard too late, Jerry."
"Look here, old lady, it isn't like you to talk this sort of stuff. Buck up! Love isn't life; it's just one incident of it. Work is the real thing, you and I both know that, and matrimony plays the devil with an artist's work, so it's not for us."
"Jerry, you—you beast!" she choked, and ran out of the room.
He stood where she left him, startled, sorry, angry. Bobs, his old pal, his fellow worker; he loved her dearly. He would not hurt her for the world, nor would he marry her. Must he always be in this tumult, this state of unrest? What was there in him which gave all the women he knew the idea of his pursuit of them? How was he to guard against this misunderstanding of his motives? A portrait painter could not manage a love affair with every woman who sat for him.
This was the culminating moment of his weeks of loneliness, his discouragement about his work, his fury at having constantly to extricate himself from tender situations which he did not make. Bobs's revelation made him feel a brute, a cad, but he could not marry Bobs; he did not want to. How could he protect himself from himself?
With an apologetic tap at the door, Jane entered. "Sorry, I forgot my bag," she said.
He confronted her squarely, looked her in the eyes and spoke, almost as if driven by some power not himself.
"Miss Jane Judd," he said earnestly, "will you marry me?"
Jane stood, perfectly still, facing him for a good second.
"What did you say?"
"I am at the mercy of things, I need a wife. I want you," he answered incoherently.
"Why do you want me?"
"Because you are able and quiet, because you're work atmosphere, because you are the kind I need."
"You know nothing about me, Mr. Paxton," she said quietly.
"Are you married?"
"No. I mean you know nothing about my thoughts, my interests, my views of life."
"I don't care what your views of life are. I know you don't talk about them all the time. I've known you for five years, and I ask you to marry me."
"You think I can protect you from the other women; is that it?"
"I didn't mean to say——"
"Let us be quite frank about it."
"That's partly it," he admitted. "How can I get anything done——"
"You think I could make you comfortable? Look after the studio, attend to the meals and other details which annoy you."
"You're used to doing that," he said.
"Quite so. And what am I to get out of this bargain, Mr. Paxton?"
He stared at her a second.
"Marrying me is not exactly a step down for you, socially," he said.
"That does not interest me especially, but I admit it. Is there anything else?"
"It would mean freedom from work, it would mean that you would have a home and be supported. It would mean leisure, and a chance to improve yourself. I think it would be a mighty good thing for you."
She smiled her disconcerting smile.
"You are taking a risk. You don't know me at all. What you want is a dumb wife, and, if you remember the play, she was not at all a comfortable possession."
"I'm taking no greater risk than you are."
"Oh, yes. I know you. I've studied you, off and on, for five years. You have barely looked at me. Think of Mrs. Abercrombie Brendon and Miss Morton. Would you be apologetic for me with them?"
"Not a bit. I saw you handle them at the pageant."
"And the studio crowd? Remember I've been a sort of servant to them."
"They're all good sports. They all know you, and what you are. We can count on them."
"I have no family. Have you any relations?"
"No."
"I think we ought to face all the possibilities."
Jerry felt a trifle uncomfortable. If he had countedon any "King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid" scene, it had not worked out at all. He seemed to be defending himself to Jane, while she conducted the interview.
"You don't dislike me, do you?" he asked.
"No. But I think we would better keep sentiment out of the matter, don't you? It is, after all, a business arrangement, of so much for so much."
"I thought maybe you were hurt because I did not protest some affection for you."
"Oh, not at all."
"I'm afraid I've done it very badly."
"No, on the whole, I think you've done it very well. The main thing is that we should both understand perfectly. My contention is that I understand it better than you do."
"I understand that you do not think much of me or the idea," he said impatiently.
"On the contrary, I think highly of both. I only suggest that you ought to know more about my ideas and ambitions."
"I'll take them on faith, Jane, if you will take me so."
She hesitated a moment; her heart was suffocating her. Here was her chance, here was the open road to experience, possibly romance. Should she enter? Dared she risk so much on one throw? Christiansen's words came to her: "Come, child, let's be about your living."
"Thank you, Mr. Paxton, I will marry you," she said to Jerry.
"Good. I hope you may never regret it," he answered earnestly.
"I hope the same for you," she flashed back at him.
"When will you—when shall we do it?"
"Whenever you like."
"To-day, now. Let's get it over so I, so we, can settle down. Will you marry me to-day, Jane?"
She gasped, then spoke quietly.
"I am ready."
"Good! That's what I like about you, Jane, no shilly-shallying, just going straight after things."
"Will you remember that if you find me going after things you do not approve of?" she smiled.
"Let's go get a license. Do you mind a justice-of-the-peace ceremony?"
"No; I prefer it."
"Bully for you. Where's my hat?"
"In the bedroom closet."
"How the deuce did it get in there?"
"I put it there. You kicked it under the couch when you were inspecting the pictures this morning."
"Was that this morning? It seems years ago," he said. "Jane, you won't make me keep my hat in that closet, will you?" he asked, when he came back with hat, stick, and gloves.
"I shall not marry you to reform you," she answered.
"Come on, then, if you're ready."
They went to the City Hall, talking of all kinds of irrelevant things. They were an incongruous-looking pair, the striking, smartly dressed man, and his working girl companion.
"I suppose this is the kind of thing they talked in the tumbrils," he said suddenly.
"Are you frightened—shall we go back?" she asked.
"No. I'm only joking."
When they were getting the license, Jerry said to her:
"How old are you, Jane?"
"Twenty-eight."
"Is that all? I thought you were older than that."
During the rest of the arrangements, and during the brief ceremony, they exchanged no words at all. Of the two, Jerry was the more nervous. When they came out into the sunlight of afternoon, he gave a deep sigh.
"That's over," he said.
"It was rather like any business deal, wasn't it? I opened a bank account once. It was rather like that, even more impressive," she said coolly.
"That is about what we have done, isn't it? Opened a sort of mutual bank account?"
She nodded.
"That's what we think we've done," she amended.
"Have we had any lunch?"
"No. But it must be three o'clock. We can let it go.
"I'm famished, and you must be, too. Let's go to the Brevoort and have a wedding breakfast, isn't that what they call it?"
When they were seated at a small table, by the window, and he was inspecting the menu, he said:
"I don't know any of the things you like to eat, Jane. Do you want to order for yourself?"
"I would like roast chicken, a salad, and something sweet."
"Coffee?"
"Yes, thank you."
Jerry ordered wine. When it was brought, served, and the waiter gone, he took up his glass, and leaned toward Jane.
"To our experiment, Jane Paxton!"
She flushed, took up her glass, and touched her lips to it in silence, because she could not speak.
"Do you feel married to me, Jane?"
"No," she answered, smiling.
"How shall we announce it to the studio crowd? Shall we have them all in to-night, and get it over?"
"No. I'd rather meet them one at a time, if you don't mind. It will get about soon enough, and I don't want any fuss."
"All right. Suit yourself."
"I wish you would tell Miss Roberts first, Mr. Paxton."
"Call me Jerry. Why should I tell Bobs first?"
"She is such a good friend; she would want to hear it from you."
"I'm not so sure about that. We'll see. Are there some best friends you have to tell?"
"Only one—Martin Christiansen."
"Christiansen—the critic fellow?"
"He is my only friend."
"You've got good taste in your friends, Jane. He is one of the most sought-after men in this town. I suppose you know his story?"
"No; I am not in his confidence."
"Hasn't he told you about his wife?"
"No. I did not know he had one."
"That's rather queer, isn't it, if he's such a good friend?"
"I think not. Our relation is intellectual, not personal."
"Jane, you don't believe in platonic friendship, do you?"
"Certainly, between some types of men and women."
He laughed, and shook his head.
"The story is that his wife is a nervous wreck, who lives in hospitals. They say that he was deeply in love with her, that he has always been true to her."
"Yes, he would be that."
"Great chap. I'm afraid of him, myself. He doesn't think much of me, I imagine."
"We have not spoken of you," she said simply.
After their late lunch, they took a taxi to Jane's tenement. There, she told her news to Mrs. Biggs, and explained that she was taking a few things for the night, that she would come the next day to dismantle and move her belongings.
Some inexplicable instinct had made her ask Jerry to wait in the cab. Alone, she let herself into the white room. Milly followed her with loud purrings. She took her up, held her close, while she looked about at the familiar surroundings.
"Milly, Milly, what have I done?" she whispered. "I'm frightened at myself. I want to come back."
She set herself deliberately to collect her things, hoping to control a climax of emotions with accustomed commonplace actions.
"Milly, we are not making a very good showing with a bridal outfit," she said chokingly.
Mrs. Biggs, panting with curiosity, came in with offers of help.
"Look after Milly, will you, Mrs. Biggs? I may leave her with you for good."
"Don't he like cats?"
"I don't know."
Jane put on her best black dress, with the white collar and cuffs, and piled her hair softly at the back of her head, as her only concession to the new situation.
"Why, Miss Judd, I should say Mrs. Paxton, ye look real purty. I didn't s'pose it was in ye."
"Thank you, Mrs. Biggs," Jane laughed.
She bade good-bye to her landlady and Milly, and hurried downstairs.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, Mr. Paxton."
"Not at all. Why wouldn't you let me go up and see your room, Jane?"
"I don't know," she answered.
As Jerry let them into the studio, he turned to her.
"Welcome home, Jane."
"Thank you," she said, her heart beating high.
"Couldn't you say, 'thanks, Jerry?'"
"Thanks, Jerry," repeated Jane slowly, and with feeling.
The weeks that followed her marriage were so difficult, so complicated for Jane, that she sometimes wondered how she could have blundered into such a labyrinth of problems. Not that she regretted it, but she was forced to ponder it. Jerry was the least of her troubles, for having married her for practical reasons, he took her for granted and made no fuss. But big friends were not so simple-minded.
The very night of their wedding day Jane induced him to go to Bobs with their news. He protested, tried to get out of it, but in the end Jane prevailed. What happened in that long conference in Bobs's studio, she never knew. She thought she heard sobs, and her heart ached for the girl. When Jerry came back, his face was white and drawn, but his relief was obvious. They did not speak of the matter then or ever.
The news of their marriage went through the studios like wind, and a veritable babble of gossip and discussion was loosed. Some of the neighbours were outraged at Jerry's performance, some of them were amused, but after the first shock had worn off, they all accepted the situation.
"After all, he might have married a chorus girl, or a rich fool, instead of old Jane. We all know her, andwe're used to her. I think he showed unexpected good sense, for Jerry," was Chatfield's comment.
On one point they all agreed, that it was incredibly good management on Jane's part to have legally attached the fickle Jerry.
Jinny Chatfield led the way, by giving a studio supper in honour of the bride and groom, inviting the entire artist colony.
"Have you anything to wear?" Jerry asked Jane, when the invitation arrived.
"No."
"You must have some clothes, and the proper kind of clothes. I made a good thing out of the pageant, so we're flush now. I will design some gowns for you."
"Oh, don't bother. I can buy some things that will do."
"You must get over that idea, Jane. As my wife, you must look like something; you must have style, and charm."
"Those were not on your list of wife requirements," she said. "I cannot produce either quality."
"Oh, yes, you can. I'll put my mind on it," he said, finally, and he did.
For several days he studied her, as he studied a portrait subject. He marked her good lines, decided about her colours. He made water-colour sketches of the costumes, enjoying himself thoroughly. Jane evinced so little interest that at last he exploded about it.
"Don't you care how you look?"
"I don't, myself, but your wife will care, from this time on."
"Don't you like these things?"
"I think they're beautiful, only I can't see myself in them, somehow."
But Jerry persevered. He bought stuffs, he took them with the designs, to a skilled woman, to be carried out.
Jane went to fittings uncomplainingly, with Jerry in command, and in due time the gowns came home. He had, in the meantime, bought her hats, furs, and all the niceties of a woman's wardrobe. She protested at his lavishness, and submitted to his excellent taste. But when the final purchase was delivered, Jane said to him:
"Jerry, I thoroughly appreciate these lovely things you have given me, and I promise you to give my appearance the most careful attention. But I wish, please, that you would agree to give me a monthly allowance for my needs and desires."
"Oh, you needn't worry about money, Jane. You'll always get it when I have any. When I'm broke, we'll neither of us have any," he laughed.
"But I want to know just what I can depend on. Of course, that would be contingent upon what we have."
"What's the difference whether I give it to you every month or not?"
"It is the difference between my being a self-respecting partner, or a dependant."
"Rubbish! Sounds like woman's rights. For heaven's sake, don't be a woman's righter, Jane."
"You agree to an allowance, then?"
"I don't see why I should. I must say, I think I have been pretty liberal so far——"
"You miss my point. I admit your liberality, and appreciate it, but slaves and servants are dependent upon liberality. It does something to your mind, you must see that."
"I'm hanged if I do."
"You must take my word for it, then, that no marriage can be built on such a basis."
"But I don't agree with you."
"Very well, then, I must take up my work in the studios again."
"What?"
"I must be independent, I must know where I stand."
"You mean to say that you would go about cleaning up studios? My wife cleaning up studios, to pander to this whim?" angrily.
"It isn't a whim, it's a principle. No kind of work can hurt my self-respect, but I want to be regarded as a partner, Jerry. If it is what you used to pay me, by the week, for keeping the studio clean, and your clothes mended, that is enough. But I must know how much it is, and when I get it."
"This is degrading, that's what it is! You don't trust me, that's the long and short of it."
"Oh, yes, I trust you more than you do me, apparently. If I had the money, and had married you, I should give you a check book on our joint account."
"That's nonsense, Jane. It's this modern stuff you've picked up in books. I loathe the new woman with herplatforms and her freedoms. Don't begin to feed me up with that stuff."
"You think it over calmly, Mr. Paxton, and you'll see it is only fair."
It was the night of the Chatfields' party, so she left him and went to dress. She took more pains with herself than she had ever taken before. She tried to do her hair as Jinny Chatfield did hers, because she had heard Jerry admire it. She put on the soft, beautiful underthings with unexpected pleasure in their daintiness.
She wore a peacock-coloured evening gown Jerry had designed for her, long and soft and wonderful in colour. It brought out her dark hair, her big eyes, heightened the whiteness of her skin. It emphasized a certain stateliness in the woman, akin to the stateliness of the bird whose plumage they had copied. Jane was surprised at herself. She felt that she looked a different person, she hoped the new self was Mrs. Jerry Paxton, and that her husband would be pleased with her.
In the absorption in her toilet she had entirely forgotten their late discussion. Her side of it had been without heat, so when she stepped into the studio, she was surprised to see Jerry's furrowed brow, as he strode up and down the floor. She did not speak, trying to get his point of view in the matter, so that he was abreast of her before he saw her.
"Good Lord!" he said, "I believe youarea beauty, and you've been keeping it to yourself all the time."
She smiled, used to his swift changes of humour.
"Walk off, let's get the effect of you."
She moved down the room slowly, embarrassed.
"You're great! You'll be a sensation. I'll paint you in that. Look here, you can have the check book to-morrow. I don't know what all the fuss was about, but you're beautiful, and you ought to have what you want."
She slowly shook her head.
"Anything the matter with that?" he cried.
"You're only giving me a bigger present than before. It isn't that you recognize my—my equality."
"For a silent woman you can stir up more words! Don't you want the check book?"
She came to him, laid a hand on his arm, as a mother might reassure a sullen boy.
"Yes, I do want it. Thank you. Now, shall we go?"
Jerry was right: Jane was a sensation at the party. There is nothing that can rally artists to a standard like beauty. She was too observant to be unaware of her effect, too simple to take conspicuous advantage of it. She was just the gentle rather elusive Jane they had all known, only smiling and responsive now, where before she had been silent.
The main surprise was the effect upon Jerry of her unqualified success. He was all possessive male. He acted the devoted husband, played up to the situation in his best manner. Jane found it deliciously amusing.
It would all have gone off withesprit, and less embarrassment than Jane had foreseen, except for one unexpected guest. About midnight, when the party was in fullswing, the door opened and Martin Christiansen appeared. He was greeted with shouts of welcome on all sides, but Jane's heart stopped beating.
He had been out of town at the time of her wedding and since then, fearful of dead words laid out in ink, she had waited for his return to explain, possibly to justify, her position.
"I came back to town to-night, and found your note," he said in hearty greeting to Jinny. "You bid me to a wedding feast and omit the magic names."
"How absurd of me. It's Jerry; Jerry and Jane. Mrs. Paxton, this is Mr. Christiansen," she added, leading him to Jane.
His face went slowly white.
"Mrs. Paxton?" he questioned.
"Mr. Christiansen and I are friends," Jane said, with dry lips, giving him a limp hand.
"Not very good ones, I fear, since I hear this news of you so casually. My felicitations, Mrs. Paxton," he added. "Where is your lucky husband?"
"Right at hand, thank you. How are you, Mr. Christiansen? I hear that you and my wife are old friends," said Jerry jocularly.
"You are a very fortunate man, Mr. Paxton; I congratulate you," the big fellow answered.
The gaiety began again, the moment was passed. At the first opportunity Christiansen came to Jane's side.
"Where can we talk?"
"There is a balcony at the end of the room. Let us go there."
He followed her. When they were seated, in the half shadows, he leaned to her.
"What has happened to you?"
"Oh, please understand! It means so much to me to have you understand," she said tensely.
"Of course, I shall understand. Now——"
"I didn't write to you because I felt I could not explain in a letter. I was waiting for you to come home so we could talk it out."
"I see. When did it happen?"
"Two weeks ago."
"You love him?"
"No."
"Why then——"
"Do you remember my saying I was sorry for him—wanted to mother him?"
"You married him for that?"
"That was what I could bring him. I married him because I wanted to begin living. When he asked me, I hesitated; it seemed such madness. It was your words which spurred me on: 'Come, child, let's be about your living.' I am about it now, Mr. Christiansen."
"Child, child, what have you done? Does he love you?"
"No; he wanted me for protection against other women."
"Beast!"
"No, no. We started in, open-eyed, neither of us sentimentalizing the situation. If you examine motives, his were as good as mine."
"You are happy?"
"N—no, but I'm thrilled all the time with a sense of doing, living, being!"
"And the work?"
"Laid aside for a time. But when I get back to it, I shall come like a Greek, bearing gifts!"
"Does he know about your work?"
"No. I felt he might laugh at me. I offered to tell him all about myself, but he did not want to hear, so I let it go. I have thought since, that I should have made him listen."
"How did he happen to offer you this bargain?"
"I think I came upon him in a climax. You see, Mrs. Brendon wanted to marry him to that Miss Morton, with or without his consent. He has never said this, but I have gathered it. Then on the cruise, a sixteen-year-old girl became infatuated with him, and ran away to come north with him. I think he has had some complication with an artist girl since he came home. It really is hard on him, because he doesn't seem to do the courting."
"And you married him, knowing this?"
"I married him because of it."
"But don't you see the danger of that nature, unless it is held by love or passion?"
"Yes."
"You hope to hold him by one of these?"
"I hope to hold him by being what he needs."
"Dear Saint, it's what hewants, not what he needs."
"I know Jerry very well. I feel sure I can manage him."
"And you? What are your chances of happiness?"
"Happiness is always a chance, isn't it? I've playedfor a big stake, but I'll stand by the risk. My days are full to the brim, with new problems to meet, new questions to answer. You must not worry about me, dear friend," she concluded, her hand on his.
"Not I. You're on the high seas now, but I trust you absolutely, Captain Jane."
"Hi, there, Bride, are you lost in the cedar chest?" called Jerry from below.
"No, we are just coming down," she answered.
"When may I come to see you?"
"Come to the studio to-morrow afternoon. We can have an hour alone, if you come at three. Jerry has a model."
"I will be there."
He took her hand, as she passed him, and laid it to his lips.
"Here's to your deep draught of life, my adventuring one. Bitter or sweet, drink it to the dregs; that's what we are here for!"
The week after the Chatfields' party, the Abercrombie Brendons and their guests returned to New York and Jerry was promptly summoned by his erstwhile hostess.
"We've got to have those people down here to tea, Jane," he said, impatiently, looking up from the note, as they sat at breakfast.
"What people?"
"Mrs. Brendon, Miss Morton, and the Bryces."
"Oh."
"I must play up and get those portrait orders."
"Besides, they are your friends. When shall we have them?"
"I would better see Mrs. Brendon, break the news to her of our marriage."
"Jerry, you haven't told her?"
"No. Waited till she got back."
"She won't come to the tea."
"Why not?"
"She'll be so angry that her plans for your marriage have miscarried."
"What do you know about that?" he inquired.
"I know."
He laughed and the subject was dropped. Thatafternoon he went to pay his respects to the great lady.
"Jerry, you wicked boy, why did you run away?" she said to him.
"Wait. Hear the worst, then empty the vials all at once. I'm married."
"You've married somebody?"
"I have."
"Who is she?"
"The girl who played Salome in the pageant."
"You were in love with her at the time! Were you engaged to her then?"
"No, we had no engagement."
"I think you behaved very badly to Althea and to me."
"Dear lady, how?"
"You led her to believe that you cared for her."
"On my solemn honour, I never made love to Miss Morton."
"You acted it, then. She got the idea, and so did I."
"I acted with her as I do with any woman I like."
"You admit you liked her?"
"I like to look at her, she is beautiful."
"Has this girl you have gone and married any money or position?"
"No."
"You've made a great big fool of yourself, Jerry Paxton, if you want my frank opinion. The Morton millions would have been no drawback to an artist of your tastes."
"I haven't the faintest reason for believing that MissMorton would have accepted me, even if I had proposed to her."
"Well, I have," snapped Mrs. Brendon.
"I'm very sorry you think so badly of me. Your friendship and kindness have meant a great deal to me, and I am deeply regretful if I have forfeited them."
"Who said you'd forfeited them? I say I arranged a splendid match for you, and you wouldn't do your part. You are a fool, that's all."
"Granted. Now, when will you and the rest of the cruising party come to tea and meet Mrs. Paxton?"
"I don't want to meet her. I'm furious at her."
"You won't be when you know her. Nobody would be furious, and stay furious at Jane."
"Althea won't come and see you making eyes at her."
"I shall ask her anyway. What day suits you, or don't you want to come?"
"Of course, I want to come. I'm curious about the woman. Say Wednesday at five. Now, when are you going to begin work on my portrait?"
"We'll make an appointment for next week, if you like."
"Jerry, we nearly died of laughter over your letters about the Bryce child. You sounded so noble and so furious. Has she gotten over her trouble?"
"She still writes to me. They ought to shut that child up, right now, for the rest of her life," he said.
Half an hour later he left the lady in a very good humour and he decided that he had handled a difficult situation with some finesse. He reported to Jane, who made no comment. She wrote the invitations to the others, athis suggestion. She included Christiansen and some of the artist set.
"I shall ask Miss Roberts to pour tea," she said.
"Good idea. Don't believe she'll do it, but you might try."
She went to Bobs's door, that very minute, and knocked.
"What is it?" ungraciously from within.
"It's Jane. May I come in?"
She opened the door and entered. Bobs sat at work. She just looked at Jane, the same look of intense feeling which she had turned on her since her marriage.
"I wish you would not hate me so," Jane said directly. "We missed you out at the Chatfields' party, and ever since."
"I've been ill."
"Will you come and help us entertain Jerry's uptown friends on Wednesday? We both want you so much."
"Oh, I can't."
"I'm sorry. Jerry wants you, and I need you," she said, turning to go.
"I'll come," said Bobs.
"May I look at your work?" shyly.
"You won't like it."
Jane came to stand beside her, looking at the small figures already modelled in plaster.
"What is it?" she asked.
"It is called 'Woman.' I am trying to express the progress of woman through the happy ages," laughed Bobs harshly.
In the little model the figures of the women leaned oneach other, hand on shoulder, as they groped. Woman, the pack animal; woman, the slave; woman, the mother, dragged by many births; woman, old, bent, heavy with age.
"What do you think of it?" sneered Bobs.
"I think it is wonderfully done, and bitter, bitter, bitter."
"It's truth; of course it's bitter."
Jane turned and left her without another word. She felt that a terrible thing had happened to the girl's soul. She hated Jerry for his careless blundering.
"Will she come?" he asked, on her entrance.
"Yes."
"Good for you, Jane."
That evening a veritable trunk of flowers, with a note, came to Jane from Mrs. Brendon.
"Very pretty of her. Don't you think so?" Jerry said.
"Yes."
"She's quite important, you know."
"You mean she is distinguished?"
"Distinguished? No. I mean she is Mrs. Abercrombie Brendon."
"She is rich?"
"Also powerful, which you may not despise. She can be very useful to us."
He was irritated at Jane's lack of social consciousness. She had no idea of any desirability in Mrs. Brendon's patronage. She was as unmoved by this important occasion as if the Chatfields were coming to tea. She made every preparation for the comfort of their guests.The studio was delightfully immaculate, with Jerry's flowers everywhere. She made the sandwiches herself, chose the French pastry with care.
"Wear the gray and flame gown, will you, Jane?" Jerry said to her, when she went to dress.
"Certainly."
He fussed about nervously, until she reappeared. She looked her best. This gown of flame-coloured chiffon, veiled with chiffon of deep gray, was one of Jerry's masterpieces.
"You look like the leading lady, Jane," he said approvingly.
"Thank you. I hope I can play it."
Her calm was not entirely genuine. She did not in the least care, for herself, what impression she made upon these people, but she realized how much it meant to Jerry. He had been in a nervous stew all day.
Bobs came in at five, very set of face, and ill at ease. Jerry greeted her over-enthusiastically. Jane saved the situation.
"Jerry, you know how to dress her," Bobs remarked.
"Funny we never noticed her points."
"I did."
Christiansen and Mrs. Brendon arrived together. Jerry met them at the door and led them to Jane.
"We have met before, Mrs. Paxton," said the great lady amiably.
"I remember," Jane replied.
Christiansen smiled into her eyes, as he took her hand.
"How do you get Mr. Christiansen here, Jerry? He shuns my parties," Mrs. Brendon complained.
"It is Jane's charms, not mine," laughed her host.
"Ah," said Mrs. Brendon, inspecting Jane again.
The Bryces and Althea came along shortly. Mrs. Bryce was very cordial to Jane, Althea very patronizing. Wally, after one look at his hostess, lost his head at once.
"You're a dear to ask us to your party, after the trouble that awful child of ours gave you," said Mrs. Bryce to Jerry.
"She is a handful. Jane had her overnight."
"You poor soul!" exclaimed Wally.
"I liked her. She was so absurd, and so pathetic. Her positiveness is a real talent," said Jane.
They all laughed at this, except Althea, who faintly smiled. Bobs was ensconced at the tea table and the party broke up into smaller units.
"The last party Paxton gave was pleasanter than this," Christiansen whispered to Jane. "Are things going well with you?"
"If I get through this début without mischance, I'm safe," she answered gaily.
"Mrs. Brendon is on Jerry's side, but the Morton is aggrieved. Don't be too tender with her."
"These are charming quarters, Mrs. Paxton, perfectly charming," said Mrs. Brendon effusively.
"Don't you find it a trifle crowded?" asked Althea sweetly.
"No. I had only one room before I married," replied Jane.
"Oh, did you? How could you manage?" said Miss Morton, conveying pity for the poor in both tone and glance.
"Some of us need a dozen costly rooms for our background; some of us bloom radiantly in one tiny chamber," said Christiansen.
"Are you a poet as well as a critic, Mr. Christiansen?" she asked tartly.
"Mrs. Paxton inspires unsuspected gifts," he retorted.
Althea managed to get Jerry into a corner, where she gave him a bad half hour. Jane was glad to be rid of her. She quite enjoyed the others. She almost disgraced herself, when she heard Bobs giving Mrs. Brendon an elaborate and fictitious biography of their hostess. On the whole, the party went off very well.
"Mrs. Paxton, your husband is to begin my portrait next week, so we shall see something of each other at my sittings," said Mrs. Brendon, at parting.
"Do you paint here?" asked Althea.
"Yes," said Jerry.
"Can't you begin on mine next week, too? I could come the days Mrs. Brendon does not come."
"Better wait until we are through with hers."
"No. I want to begin at once."
"Besieged! What a life these portrait painters lead," cried Christiansen.
"Mrs. Brendon comes Monday at ten. Will you come at the same hour on Tuesday?"
"Yes," she said, and laughed. "Good-bye, Mrs. Paxton. So nice to meet you."
Jane bowed silently. Adieux followed and their voices trailed off down the hall.
"Damned snobs!" remarked Bobs.
"I thought they behaved very well," said Jerry haughtily.
"Thank God I don't have to cater to them. You were just right, Jane. Kept them where they belonged."
"I'm afraid I was a failure. They didn't seem real to me. They were like people on the stage. I couldn't talk to them."
"You were all right. They were crazy about you," said Jerry.
Jane laughed at that and startled them both. She laughed so rarely.
"If I were Mrs. Jerry Paxton, I'd tell 'em to go plumb to ——. He could just manage them himself."
"Free woman!" taunted Jerry.
"You were a dear to come. I know it bored you," Jane interrupted.
"You didn't need me," said Bobs, as she left.
Jane sighed, and went to the dismantled table. Jerry, idly smoking, watched her.
"Where did you get the grand air, Jane?"
"Have I it?"
"You certainly have. It's a great thing for a beginner.... Two portraits, and of those two women. It is a very good start indeed, Mrs. Jerome Paxton."
"I'm glad."
"Do you want to be rich, Jane?"
"No. I think it hampers people."
"How?"
"Things collect and get to be important. Possessions smother you. Oh! no, I should hate to be rich."
"Jane, I sometimes feel as if I had married a female Bernard Shaw!"
Again she laughed, and he noticed it was a pleasant sound.