on me. I want to do my part."

"I think that's only fair," she answered, and she laid her hand in his.

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 aesthetes 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,