“You don’t know the half of it,” said Jimmy.
“Yes, I do,” said Jane. “I know pretty nearly the whole of it. I understand you perfectly.”
“Sure you do?” said Jimmy.
“I know you can do great things if you’re prodded by a little encouragement—”
“Say rather if I’m prodded by ‘the endearing elegance of female friendship,’ ” said Jimmy, still with the smile. “It does more for a man than you know. There’s a little lyric of A. E. Housman’s, Jane—I wonder if you remember it?—it has always been a particular favourite of mine.” Still smiling into her appreciative eyes, he quoted lightly:
“Oh, when I was in love with you.
Then I was clean and brave,
And miles around the wonder grew
How well did I behave.”
“Well,” laughed Jane a little confusedly, “even so, what of it? As long as you do behave, you know.”
“There’s a second verse,” said Jimmy warningly.
“And now the fancy passes by,
And nothing will remain,
And miles around they’ll say that I
Am quite myself again.”
Jane felt unaccountably disappointed in the second verse. She summoned up a laugh, however.
“I call that cynical,” she said. “It won’t be that way with you. As soon as you get to New York, Jimmy, you must show that concerto to Damrosch. I know he’ll like it. And you must write something else. Something else immediately, while you’re still in the mood for it.”
“Perhaps I won’t be in the mood for it,” said Jimmy. “I don’t feel as if I’d be much in the mood for anything when I get back to New York.”
“You’ve been working awfully hard,” said Jane sympathetically. “I liked what you wrote last week about Mischa Elman. You’re right. No other living violinist has his combination of warmth and light—of feeling, yet detachment—”
They talked of Mischa Elman’s concert all the way to Lakewood. Stephen was waiting for dinner and reading a King Arthur story aloud to the children when they entered the living-room. He was glad to see Jimmy and glad, too, of the soft spring weather.
“We’ll have eighteen holes of golf tomorrow morning, Jimmy,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t dress, Jane. I’m as hungry as a bear.”
But Jane thought she would just slip into the red Poiret tea-gown. It would not take a minute.
IV
That evening Jimmy played parcheesi with the children. Jane sat at Steve’s elbow and advised him on his moves. Stephen lounged in his armchair and read the Evening Post. Stephen was no parcheesi fan. He was glad to be relieved of a duty that had devolved upon him every evening since Miss Parrot’s departure the week before. Jane thought the game was really quite amusing. They laughed a great deal over Steve’s success with the dice. He sent Jimmy’s foremost man home eight times in succession. It was half-past nine before the game was over.
When the children had gone upstairs, Stephen cast aside his paper with a yawn.
“I’m tired tonight,” he said. “This first hot weather takes it out of you. I’m going up to bed.”
Jane caught a glint of elation in Jimmy’s eye across Stephen’s unconscious figure. Jane did not like that glint. Of course, Jimmy just wanted to sit and gossip by the fire as they had so often gossiped, but he should not have allowed himself to look elated. Curiously, at that moment, Jane thought of her father. “Avoid all appearance of evil.” She thought also of Sarah, washing dishes in the pantry.
“I’m tired, too, Stephen,” she said evenly. “I’d like to turn in early myself.”
The glint of elation in Jimmy’s eyes turned quickly to a look of incredulity, then to one of mock consternation.
“See here,” he protested, “I’m not tired. I’m not tired at all. I was looking forward to a big evening.”
“Sorry,” smiled Jane. “You’re not going to get it.” She turned with Stephen toward the door.
“See here,” said Jimmy again, “are you just going off to bed and leave me standing here on the hearthrug? I don’t call it civil.”
“That’s just what we’re going to do,” smiled Jane. “Goodnight.”
“It’s a sell,” said Jimmy. “It’s not ten o’clock yet. What will I do with myself? I can’t go to sleep for hours. I’ll be reduced to writing a letter to Agnes!”
The mention of Agnes’s name instantly confirmed Jane’s plan to go up with Stephen. He had already started for the stairs.
“That’s a fine idea, Jimmy,” said Jane pleasantly. “There’s notepaper in the desk by the window. Give her my love and tell her I think the concerto is grand.”
Jimmy crossed the hearthrug and stood at her side for a moment in hesitant silence. He laid a restraining finger on her arm.
“Don’t go up, Jane,” he said persuasively. “I want to talk to you.”
“Can’t you talk to me tomorrow?” asked Jane, a trifle uncertainly.
“Good night, Jimmy,” called Stephen from the staircase. “Remember, eighteen holes tomorrow morning!”
Jane turned to glance up at him. He was standing on the landing, looking down on them a little wearily. Jane suddenly thought their figures had assumed a rather intimate pose. She started away from Jimmy and walked out into the hall. She threw him a glance over her shoulder, however. He was gazing after her so wistfully that she could not help twinkling back at him.
“No, I’m going up,” she said pleasantly. “Good night, Jimmy.” She followed Stephen up the darkened staircase and into the mellow lamplight of their little blue bedroom. Stephen, with a familiar gesture, was already hanging his grey sack coat over the back of a chair. He looked up at Jane as she entered.
“You look very pretty tonight in that red thing,” he said.
Jane glanced at herself in the cheval glass—she did look pretty. Her eyes were still twinkling at the thought of deserted Jimmy and her lips were curved in a little involuntary smile. Stephen continued to look at her in silence.
“You’ll miss Jimmy,” said Stephen, “when he goes back East.”
Jane turned to stare at him. Stephen had never made any comment on Jimmy just
