ed. 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