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, and we'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 her platforms 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 you _are_ a 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 with _esprit_, and less embarrassment than
Jane had foreseen, except for one unexpected guest. About midnight, when
the party was in full swing, 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 he _wants_, 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 played for 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!"