see him. I can't stand any more emotion just now," she said
anxiously.

"Jane, do you care for him so much?"

She closed her eyes, a second, without replying.

"When to-morrow?" she asked finally.

"In the afternoon," he said.

They did not speak of it again, but something had happened to their
new-found oneness. They both tried to be perfectly natural and at ease,
but the ghost of Martin was in the room.

The next day he came. He was all concern at Jane's white face. He knew
in a second what a crisis she had passed through, and so he made no
least reference to anything that had gone before, anything that was to
be. He was dear, big Martin, delighted with the baby, courteous to
Jerry, at ease in the midst of their self-consciousness. So in the end
he dominated the scene.

Jerry and Anna took their small charge for a drive, leaving Martin and
Jane alone. As they departed, Jane was filled with terror. She was so
afraid of emotion.

"Jerry is an enemy to be proud of," said Martin.

"Jerry is a fine man, Martin," Jane answered.

He looked at her long, holding her steady eyes with his.

"You have suffered much, beloved," he said softly. "I did not come to
intrude, or to demand an answer. I came because I had to know what had
hurt you."

"I thought I had brought Baby here and risked his life. If he had died,
I should have died, too," she said simply.

"I know. Let us not speak of it at all. Let's talk of the new book."

"The new book? Why, Martin, I had forgotten!" she exclaimed.

"Dear child," he said tenderly, "they have been deep waters!"

"The book--is it selling?" she asked.

"Yes. They told me they had good news for you."

They drifted off into talk of other things, new books, a new opera, a
poet he had met. It was as if he took her into the arms of his spirit,
and there she was at rest. The time flew as it always did when they were
together. Jane felt the call back to life and work, the stimulus of his
vitality.

Before the others came back, Martin pleaded an engagement in town, and
the necessity of taking a train at six o'clock.

"Good-bye, my Jane. Whatever comes, I shall understand."

When he was gone, Jane lay on the couch they had placed for her on the
balcony, looking up at the sky, and let her thoughts take shape. They
flew swiftly, clearly. How Martin understood her; how tenderly he had
protected her against himself--against herself. He had given his
thoughts, his vitality, his devoti