Don't Pick Me

CHAPTER XVI

The search for the place in the country proved to be rather jolly. They would start off early in the morning, sometimes with luncheon in a box, more often depending upon the chance inn to supply their wants. Jerry found Jane a comfortable companion. If it suddenly rained, or if they were late getting lunch it never made any difference to her, and he was ashamed to admit that it did to him. She showed a sort of heroic disregard of any physical disability. She walked for miles and refuted any suggestion of weariness. He admired this in her as extravagantly as all æsthetes admire Spartan qualities.

Jane, on her side, delighted in Jerry's whole-hearted boyishness. He was like a kid on a holiday. He would have taken every house they looked at, regardless of size or rent, if she had not prevented him. Some feature about each one seemed to him irresistible.

After weeks of prowling in all directions out of New York, they found it. On the Sound, in Connecticut, they discovered a little Colonial house, all shut away, in its own grounds, by high hedges and iron gates. A charming, many-windowed little house it was, and Jane's heart went out to it. It answered almost all of their requirements as to space and equipment.

"This is it, isn't it, Jane?" Jerry asked her.

"It's more than we intended to pay."

"Oh, well, I expected to pay more than we intended to. You like it, and I can paint here, so let's settle it."

"I should be happy here; this house speaks to me," she said.

So it was decided that it was to be theirs from June to October. They chatted happily over it all the way back to town. These summer excursions had brought them closer together than ever before, but with the summer plans settled, and Jane apparently the same as ever, Jerry fell back into his habit of playing about with Mrs. Brendon and Althea.

Jane went almost daily to her workshop. She did not always write; sometimes she sat and made baby clothes, thinking long, long thoughts. The room soothed her like a cool hand. In the afternoon she rested, and often she and Bobs went for a walk together. She told no one of her hopes.

Martin Christiansen had gone away on one of his frequent journeys and she missed him. He was the most stimulating influence in her mental life, and she begrudged his absences. He wrote her sometimes, wonderful letters, strong and full of flavour like his own personality.

Bobs turned off the avenue one day, just as Jerry stepped out of Althea's motor. She deliberately waited for him to overtake her.

"Hello, Jerry."

"Hello, Bobs."

"Why doesn't she bring you to your own door? It's an outrage that she makes you walk two blocks."

"Oh, I still walk a little, just out of regard for my figure," he said, nettled at her tone.

"What on earth do you see in her, Jerry?"

"She's a very attractive woman, my dear. Also her motors and her opera box are very comfortable. Also she makes a fuss over me every minute. I don't get that at home, you know. Even you get your claws ready when I appear!"

"Jerry, you're an awful cad!"

"Thanks."

"What do you give her to pay for these comforts?"

"Oh, I keep her vanity fed, that's my part."

"What kind of lap dog are you, Jerry, a spitz?"

"You can't talk to me like that!" he said angrily.

"I'd hate to tell you what I really think of you, and what all your old friends down here think of you, if calling you a lap dog offends you."

"The virago is not a becoming rôle, Bobs," he said, and left her.