The day of Mrs. Brendon's first sitting began a new era for Jane. As
soon as the studio was in order, on the morning she was expected, Jane
appeared in hat and coat, ready for the street.
"Aren't you going to stay to receive Mrs. Brendon?" Jerry asked, faintly
aggrieved.
"Why, no. It is scarcely necessary, is it? I have some other things to
do."
"Just as you like, of course."
She nodded to him, and went out. Once on the street, she drew a deep
breath, and turned her steps into an old and frequent walk, across the
square to the crooked street, where grew the model tenement, where Jane
Judd had spent her nights for so many years. She climbed the stairs
gaily, and found Mrs. Biggs at home.
"I got yer letter," she said, after a cordial greeting, "and I ain't
done nuthin' to the room, just like you told me."
"Thanks. I mean to keep it for awhile, Mrs. Biggs, to store some of my
things in. I want a place of my own to spread out in. You see, our flat
is mostly studio, and Mr. Paxton's things take up all the room."
"Sure. Awful messy, ain't they, them painters?"
"You can't expect them to paint and be neat, too. How are you and
Billy?"
"All right. We miss ye like anything, Miss Judd, I should say Mrs.
Paxton. You never was much of a talker, but we got used to you, an' it
seems real lonesome without ye. Milly misses you awful."
"Where is she?"
"Out on the fire-escape, in the sun."
She opened the window and urged Milly in. Jane spoke to her, but Milly
showed no signs of recognition. She permitted Jane to pet her, and when
she started for the old room, the cat followed, out of habit.
Inside the room with the door locked, and Milly in her old accustomed
chair, Jane laid off her things and looked about her fondly. She threw
open the windows to let in the air and sun. She dusted, sat down at her
desk, filled her pen, and drew the old notebook to her.
For a while she did not write, she just sat and contemplated. It seemed
years instead of months since she belonged here, in this cool, white,
impersonal place. She had grown used to warm harmonies of colour in her
surroundings, but it seemed to her that she could never create there,
she needed this space, and peace. For days she had felt the urge to
write, and the thought of this haven of hers had been always in her
mind.
She had not told Jerry of her determination to retain her old room. It
needed so much explanation, so much self-revelation, which she was not
prepared to give him yet, nor he to accept. Meanwhile, when he was busy
with his great ladies, she could slip away to her own work.
She drew the page nearer and began to write.... It seemed five minutes
later that Mrs. Biggs knocked at the door.
"One o'clock," she called.
"Oh, is it? Thank you," answered Jane, like one coming out of a trance.
In ten minutes she had locked her door, hurried away, elate, happy. Mrs.
Brendon had departed, carrying Jerry off to lunch. They had left a note
for her. She was glad to be alone, and she hummed softly as she laid out
her slight meal. Bobs came in.
"All alone? Where's Jerry?"
"Gone to lunch with Mrs. Abercrombie Brendon."
"Jane, don't you let him do it. I tell you, it is the beginning of the
end for you, if you let him go about with these women alone," she said
hotly.
"They would have asked me, if I had been here. I was out."
"Don't you stand for it, Jane!"
"After all, it is a part of Jerry's business."
"Jerry's business is to make women care for him. It is very dangerous
business and apt to be bitter for his wife," said Bobs.
"I think I understand his temperament and his temptations fairly well,
but I prefer to trust him."
"You'll regret it, mark my words."
"Sit down and have lunch with me. There isn't much to tempt you, but I'd
like to have you."
"Thanks, I will. I get blue these days. I'm all off my form."
"You take such poor care of yourself. Meals when you remember; no
exercise, just work."
"I wish I could work myself to death. I'm sorry I can't."
"Do you sleep well?"
"No."
"How is 'Woman' coming along?"
"Very uneven. Some days good, some days awful."
"Come over to Union Square with me this afternoon. The I. W. W. people
are going to explain the Paterson strike."
"Are you interested in the Paterson strike?"
"Yes, because it affects so many women. I'm deeply interested in woman's
industrial fight, aren't you?"
"I used to be. But what's the use? Woman is trying to fight her way
against the two strongest forces in the world, first, Nature--her own
damnable, emotional impotence--second, Man, the cave-dweller."
"You think men don't want her to advance?"
"Man wants things to go on as they did a hundred years ago; woman, the
dependant, the begetter, the chattel."
"Not all of them----"
"Well, we won't get anywhere until men are with us, and help us, and
that's--never!"
"It's too late to say that. We're started, we are far on the way, we've
got to convert them."
"Have you tried your hand at converting Jerry?" Bobs laughed. "I advise
you not to try. He once put it all into a phrase-- The woman I marry
must have only one career--Jerry Paxton.'"
Jane made no comment.
"They don't know what we're talking about; they don't want to know. They
refuse to admit what education and economic conditions have done to us.
It means a readjustment. It's uncomfortable. They won't have it."
"It's human nature to fight change, but change takes place every second,
just the same," said Jane.
"I hope change breeds a brand of us without sex instinct before I come
again," said Bobs, and went away.
Jane sat still where she had left her for several minutes. She was weak,
as if she had looked on at a fellow creature bleeding to death. When she
went out later, her thoughts were still full of Bobs and how she could
help her. It was part of her problem now. If Jerry's careless
philandering had thrown all the forces of the girl's nature into panic
and revolt, surely it was a part of the new woman-thought in the world
that Jerry's wife should work for her restoration.
Daily visits to her secret room followed. Jerry was absorbed in his
work, restless and overwrought when he had leisure. They lived like two
ghosts, passing to and fro, each unaware of the other.
Mrs. Brendon and the Bryces both entertained at dinners, in honour of
the Paxtons. Jane went through both ordeals with credit, looked
handsome, and was much admired. Jerry complimented her on the way home
from the Brandons', and inquired if she enjoyed it.
"Not much. They never seem to talk of things that interest me."
"What does interest you?" he asked curiously.
"All the big, vital things that are going on in the world."
"What kind of things, Jane?"
"Well, the problems of labour, of women, of education, of international
politics. Scores of things that these people seem unaware of."
"They talk about the war enough."
"No, they merely tell their opinions, their heated antipathies toward
the belligerents."
"What did you touch old Brendon up on? I saw him raving at you."
"I said I thought trusts were dangerous and lawless. He got very excited
defending them."
"But, Lord, Jane, he's head of heaps of trusts."
"I can't help that."
"Did you tell him why they were dangerous?"
"I tried to. I said that powerful boards of directors authorized cruel
and unlawful things to be done, which no individual would do, no matter
how rich and powerful he might be."
"Jane, Lot's wife never gave him more of a turn than you've given me! I
didn't know you thought about this sort of thing. What did Brendon say?"
"He treated me like a naughty child."
"Must have given him some shock! Go easy, Jane, for the right hand of
Brendon is going to sign the check that starts the house that Jerry
builds," he laughed.
For a day or so after that talk she found him looking at her with a sort
of wondering scrutiny.
"Both Mrs. Brendon and Miss Morton think it is queer that you are never
here when they come," he said one day.
"I hope you explain to them that I am busy in the morning."
"But what on earth do you do?"
"Oh, there are lots of things to do," she smiled.
When the portrait of Miss Morton was finished, she sent out cards for a
huge tea, at which it was to be exhibited. The day the picture was to be
sent away, Jerry came upon Jane inspecting it.
"Do you like it?"
"I think it looks just like her."
"Thanks. Said to be desirable in a portrait. You don't care for her
type?'
"She looks like a calla lily."
"But that is ugly."
"Oh, no. It's pure, white, cold, ecclesiastical. Many people admire
them."
"Do you think it is good painting?" he inquired.
"I know very little about painting," she evaded.
"We must begin your art education, Jane."
The day of the reception, Jerry took luncheon at the Morton house, and
spent the early afternoon directing the proper placing for the portrait.
He called Jane on the 'phone, explaining that he would not have time to
come to the studio for her, and asking her to meet him at the tea.
Unfortunately for Jerry's plans, just as Jane had completed her costume
for this most distasteful party, Martin Christiansen arrived, and in the
joy of seeing him, she forgot everything else.
"It is good to see you," she said.
"And you. But you are very gorgeous," he added, with the tribute of his
eyes. "How does life run these days, Jane Judd?"
"Full to the very banks. I'm at work again."
"Good. But not here?"
"No. I kept the old room at Mrs. Biggs's. I go every morning while Jerry
is at work."
"He asks no questions?"
"None so far."
"Admirable husband! And what is the opus?"
She began to outline the idea of a sustained piece of work, based on her
own experience and thoughts. She told her plot dramatically and well. To
any one who knew her as the silent Jane, this pulsing creature would
have been a marvel. There was something in Christiansen that gave her
tongue. She was at ease with him, sure of complete understanding.
They argued, they planned, they debated points of psychology, they were
perfectly absorbed and unaware of time. Into this meeting came Jerry,
angry as he could possibly be at Jane's defection, but infuriated when
he saw the cause.
"Jerry!" she exclaimed, at sight of him.
"Don't let me interrupt you, pray. Good-afternoon, Mr. Christiansen."
"But the tea isn't over?"
"Naturally. It is after seven."
"I had no idea it was so late," said Christiansen, rising. "Have I kept
you from some social duty, Mrs. Paxton?"
"No doubt she was glad of an excuse," laughed Jerry forcedly.
"Miss Morton had a tea to exhibit Jerry's portrait. It was dreadful of
me to forget," she said earnestly.
"The fault is entirely mine, the apologies must be mine, Mr. Paxton. I
have kept your wife so besieged by my talk that she has had no chance to
escape."
"No matter at all, I assure you," said Jerry.
Christiansen made hasty adieux.
"You must believe that I intended to come, Jerry. You see I am dressed
for it."
"It was a trifle embarrassing when everybody asked for you."
"I am so sorry."
"You may not be interested in my work, or my friends, but, as my wife,
you certainly must show them some respect," he stormed.
"I hope I have shown them every respect," she began.
"Not at all. You've run away every time a sitter has appeared in this
studio, and now you have deliberately insulted Miss Morton."
"Oh, Jerry, that's not fair. It was an accident."
The telephone rang.
"There she is now. What do you expect me to tell her?"
"Whatever you like. I should tell her the truth."
He answered the call and explained at great length that Mrs. Paxton had
been suddenly taken ill, in the afternoon, and could not come out. She
was covered with chagrin at missing the tea.
"Nice fix to put a man in," he began again.
"Jerry, I cannot be nagged. I have told you the truth. I am sorry I
offended you and your friends. Let's not discuss it any further,
please."
"We might discuss Christiansen possibly. The fascinating gentleman who
makes you forget time, and obligations to your husband."
"You were rude to him."
"I don't care if I was."
"But you expect me to be courteous to Miss Morton."
"That's a different matter."
"I do not find it so. If I am polite to your friends, I expect you to be
the same to mine."
"I won't discuss it with you," he interrupted her. He took his hat and
banged out of the studio.
Jane thought it over for a few moments. Then she, too, put on her things
and went to the Brevoort for her dinner. The waiter bowed a welcome, and
led her to the table where Jerry sat.
"Oh, no," said Jane to the waiter.
"For heaven's sake, sit down!" growled Jerry, rising.
Althea Morton sat at a near-by table, with a party of friends!