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 exhibit