Don't Pick Me

CHAPTER XXXI

"Come in, Jerry," Jane said quietly.

He obeyed her, his face so white and set that he looked years older, like a stranger who had accidentally come in upon this, the most vital moment of her life.

Martin turned at sound of her words, with a sigh that was almost a groan. Jerry came across the long studio to them, looking at Jane. He stopped, facing her, still gazing at her.

"I have just told Jane that I love her," Martin said presently. Jerry nodded. "I think you ought to know."

"I have known it for some time," Jerry replied.

Martin shook his head.

"You could not have known it. I have only admitted it to myself in the last few days—since my freedom came."

"Your wife is dead?" Jerry asked quietly.

"Yes."

"What do you want me to do, Jane?" Jerry said.

"I want you to believe what Martin said—that he never knew he cared until now—that this hour brought the first word of sentiment between us. That it was an accident—an explosion. You do believe that, Jerry?"

"If you like."

"It is the truth."

"Don't let's talk about the truth of what has happened or what has not; the only question is: what are we to do?" Jerry cried sharply, like a man keeping difficult control of himself.

"I'll go," said Martin.

"No, you'll stay. Jane may need you," Jerry said.

"Very well. I am at her service entirely. I wanted to spare you," Martin said.

"You're a little late in considering me, Christiansen!" bitterly.

"Jerry, don't you see this is not anybody's fault? Martin didn't mean it to happen; I didn't mean it to; certainly you didn't. Can't we be quite patient with each other and try to get it straightened?"

"I'm trying to be patient, Jane, but I'm not a saint, and by God! the thing I want to do is to kick him, so don't begrudge me a few words; after all, you are my wife; this is my house, he has outraged my rights."

"Jerry, you haven't any rights in me or in our home apart from our rights. Won't you understand that your honour is my honour, that only in so far as we let it get smirched can it be smirched."

"I can't match words with you, Jane. Say what you want and let's get through with it."

"Paxton, your wife has given me no reason to believe that my love is of any importance to her. Couldn't we...?"

"I'm not here to interrogate my wife, nor ask for any justification of her feelings. I only want her to decide what she wants me to do."

"Jerry, what do you want to do?" she asked him.

He hesitated several seconds.

"If you love him, I want to get out of your way as soon as possible," he answered.

"And if I do not love him?"

"Then I want him to get out."

Jane went over to the window and looked out into the early evening for some moments. The two men scarcely stirred. Then suddenly, as if something snapped, Jerry laughed.

"It's just like Candida, isn't it?" he said bitterly. "You, poet, must offer her high moments, and I, the dull husband, must offer my need of her!"

"Oh, Jerry, don't," said Jane, coming to him swiftly.