VII
The Twentieth Century was pulling slowly into the La Salle Street Station. Jane stood in the vestibule, knee-deep in luggage, looking eagerly for Stephen beyond the little crowd of porters that lined the greasy platform. Jimmy was at her elbow, but Flora and Mr. Furness were still sitting in the compartment. Mr. Furness found crowds very tiring.
The train came slowly to a standstill. Jane tumbled down the steps, stumbling over suitcases. She looked quickly down the long vista of the train-shed. The platform was crowded, now, with red caps galvanized into action and with travellers trying to sort out their bags from the heaps of luggage piled at each car entrance. No Stephen was to be seen. Jimmy was watching her with his ironical smile.
“He’s forgotten you,” he said presently. “He isn’t here.”
“He always meets me,” said Jane. “In fifteen years of matrimony he’s met me every time I’ve come home.”
“What an idyll!” smiled Jimmy. It didn’t seem impertinent because of the smile.
Suddenly Jane saw Stephen. She saw his grey Fedora hat towering over the heads of the crowd.
“Oh—Stephen!” she called, her voice lost in the uproar of the train-shed. He saw her waving arm, however. In a moment he was at her side. Jane cast herself into his arms. She knew Jimmy was watching them. She pressed her cheek against the rough tweed of Stephen’s coat lapel, then turned her face to his. She felt a trifle histrionic, under Jimmy’s ironical eye. Stephen kissed her cheek, very tranquilly.
“Hello, Jane!” he said cheerfully. “Your train’s an hour late. You can get a dollar back from the railroad.”
Jane wished his greeting had been a bit more idyllic. Jimmy was grinning now, quite frankly.
“Stephen,” said Jane, “this is Jimmy—Jimmy Trent. He’s been giving me a whirl all the way from New York.”
Stephen looked over at Jimmy. He seemed a little surprised, Jane thought, at what he saw. Or perhaps it was at what she had said. She remembered her last words on Jimmy in the Boston South Station, eight days before, “I know I’ll hate him.” Jimmy had stepped forward and extended his hand.
“How do you do, sir,” he said simply.
His ultimate monosyllable struck Jane’s ear. She glanced from Jimmy to Stephen. Jimmy looked very casual and debonair. Stephen looked—well, Stephen looked just like what he was, the forty-four-year-old first vice-president of the Midland Loan and Trust Company. Jane felt again that curious little pang of pity. Stephen had once looked quite as casual and as debonair as Jimmy. He was only ten years older than Jimmy that minute. Yet Jimmy had called him “sir.” And the worst of it was that it had sounded quite suitable.
Flora and Mr. Furness had descended from the train. They were greeting Stephen, now, very warmly. They all trooped down the platform together and into the station, and over to the ticket window to collect their dollars. Jimmy pocketed his and turned to Jane with a smile.
“Could you have lunch with me?” he said. “Meet me somewhere at one and show me the town.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” said Jane. “I have to go out to the country and have lunch with the children.”
“Have dinner with the children,” smiled Jimmy persuasively. “I’m a dollar in pocket and I’d like to give you a time.”
“I couldn’t,” said Jane firmly. “But I’d like you to have lunch with Stephen. Stephen!” she called. He turned from the ticket window. “Don’t you want to lunch with Jimmy at the University Club? I’d like him to meet people.”
Once more, Stephen looked just a little surprised.
“I’d be glad to,” he said, “if he can come early. I’ve a date to meet Bill Belmont there at noon. He’s on from New York to put through that Morgan deal. If Jimmy doesn’t mind talking of bond issues—”
“I’m not awfully helpful on bond issues,” said Jimmy self-deprecatingly. “And I’m afraid I couldn’t get off at noon. I’ll be busy with the boys at the News. Thanks ever so much, though.”
They all turned away from the ticket window to the taxi entrance. Jane was solemnly reflecting that Jimmy was outrageous. She felt very thankful that Stephen had not heard him invite her to lunch. Suddenly she heard his voice at her ear.
“And when am I going to see you?” said Jimmy.
Jane hadn’t forgiven him.
“You must come out to Lakewood sometime,” she said vaguely. “For a night or a weekend.”
“Oh, I’ll come out to Lakewood,” said Jimmy.
“When you’re settled,” pursued Jane politely, “let me know where I can reach you. Give me a ring when you find a good boardinghouse.”
“Oh, I’ll give you a ring,” said Jimmy.
By this time Stephen had hailed a taxi.
“I won’t go with you to the other station,” he said. “I’ve got to run into the Federal Building.” Jane stepped into the cab. “Your mail’s on your desk, dear. Don’t pay the painter’s bill till I talk to you about it.”
Jane nodded very brightly. She was once again conscious of Jimmy’s ironical eye. This time she wouldn’t stoop to be histrionic. She waved her hand casually as the taxi started. Jimmy and Stephen, standing bareheaded on the curbstone, both smiled and waved cheerfully in reply. Their waves and their smiles were very different, however, reflected Jane, as the taxi turned into the traffic at the station entrance.
III
I
“They say it wasn’t a stroke,” said Isabel, “but of course it was.”
“Mrs. Lester told me it was acute indigestion,” said Mrs. Ward.
“And Rosalie told me it was brain fatigue,” said Isabel.
“I don’t know what Bert Lancaster’s ever done to fatigue his brain,” said Mrs. Ward.
Jane laughed, in spite of her concern for Muriel. They were all sitting around the first October fire in Jane’s little Lakewood living-room. Her mother and Isabel had motored out from town to take tea
