Don't Pick Me

CHAPTER XXXII

Before Jane went to bed a telegram came from Miss Garnett saying she would take them, so she had no need of anxiety on that score. The morning proved gray and cold. Breakfast was a silent affair.

Baby was the only cheerful member of the party which started for the station in a taxicab. He was so absorbed in the experience in hand that he provided a topic of interest.

"He's keen on taxicabs; this is his second one and see how he takes to it!" said Jerry.

"Mebbe he's going to be a 'chauffer,'" suggested Anna.

So with trivialities they managed to keep up appearances until Jerry was to leave them.

"Will you write to me, Jane?" he asked, bending over her.

"No, but I will send for you the minute I am sure of myself. We shall not be far away and we are to be comfortably housed in a place I know, so don't worry about us. Have a good holiday and forget us, Jerry."

"That's a good idea," he remarked.

He kissed his son, shook hands with Anna. Then, as the engine bell sounded, he laid his hands on Jane's shoulders and looked into her eyes for a long second. Then he was gone. He left in Jane's mind an impression of an appeal he would not let himself make in words.

They found Miss Garnett's cottage just as Jane remembered it. There was something soothing about going back to it, as if she had slipped out of the years that had come since, into that other girlish self. She recalled her mother's pleasure in the holiday. How she wished that her frail spirit might come to visit them, and fall victim to small Jerry's charms.

Even Miss Garnett looked the same. She was the sort of dried-up creature which shows no age. She did not remember Jane, but she was interested in the baby. They were the only boarders, as it happened, so no one could be disturbed by the boy. They had two big, sunny rooms, with the balcony out of one of them, on which Jerry Jr. could sleep. It was comfortable and independent, the two things Jane desired.

The first day was spent in getting unpacked, settling Baby's routine. Jane gave her full attention to all these practical details before she so much as let her mind wander toward the problem she had come here to consider.

With the second day their régime was inaugurated. Late breakfast for Jane, an hour with Baby, bathing him herself, playing with him in the sun. A long walk while he slept. Leisurely luncheon—more Baby—a rest for all of them; then more walk, with Baby in his carriage, or a drive. It was not until she had been there several days that Jane remembered about her book. She smiled at the thought of how tremendously important it had seemed to her only a week ago to have a book published, and yet for days she had forgotten it.

"Living, living is the important thing," she said aloud, with the swift after-thought that it was Martin who had taught her that philosophy, Jerry who had given her the thing itself.

She went over every minute of her life with the two men, for in her thoughts they occupied places side by side. Her first reaction against her marriage with Jerry had passed. She saw it clearly as practical and unlovely but not as sin. Passion had had no place in her experience or her thoughts at the time of her marriage; it had certainly not been the moving force for Jerry, either.

She felt that Baby justified her somewhat. She had refused none of the responsibilities imposed upon her by her union with Jerry.

But, on the other hand, as she had said to him before Martin, her soul and her senses had found no common speech.

Intellectually she examined herself in relation to Jerry and found herself guilty. She had kept secret, between herself and Martin, the really big impulse of her life. Through a childish fear of ridicule, she had deliberately shut him out of the inner chamber of her thoughts and hopes. Was this fair?