"Is that what he says?" Jenny asked.

"That's all."

"And he wants to hear I'm all right?"

"He says so."

"Tell him from me this little girl's all right," said Jenny. "There's
plenty more mothers got sons. Plenty. Tell him that when you write."

Her sentences rattled like musketry.

Castleton stared vaguely in the direction of the river as if a
friendship were going out on the tide.

"But I don't want to write," he said. "I couldn't. Still, there's one
thing. I don't believe it's another woman."

"Who cares if it is?" There was a wistfulness about her brave
indifference. "Men are funny. It might be."

"I don't somehow think it is. I'd rather not. I was very fond of him."

"So was I," said Jenny simply. "Only he's a rotter like all men."

It was strange how neither of them seemed able to mention his name.
Already he had lost his individuality and was merged in a type.

"What will you do?" Castleton asked.

"There's a question. How should I know?"

Before her mind life like a prairie rolled away into distance infinitely
dull.

"It was a foolish question. I'm sorry. I wish you'd marry me."

Jenny looked at him with sad eyes screwed up in perplexity.

"I believe you would, Fuz."

"I would. I would."

"But I couldn't. I don't want to see any of you ever again."

Castleton seemed to shrink.

"I'm not being rude, Fuz, really. Only I don't want to."

"I perfectly understand."

"You mustn't be cross with me."

"Cross! Oh, Jane, do I sound cross?"

"Because," Jenny went on, "if I saw you or any of his friends, I should
only hate you. Good-bye, I must run."

"You're all right for money?" Castleton stammered awkwardly. "I
mean--there's--oh, damn it, Jenny!"

He pounded over to the window, huge and disconsolate.

"Why ever on earth should I want money? What's the matter with next
Friday's Treasury?"

"Perhaps, Jenny, you would come out with me once, if I waited for you
one night?"

"Please don't. I should only stare you out. I _wouldn't_ know you. I
don't ever ever want to see any of you again."

She ran from the studio, vanishing like a flame into smoke.

That night when Jenny went back alone to Stacpole Terrace, she saw on
the table in the cheerless parlor the post card from Maurice, and close
beside it the green hat bought in September still waiting to be
re-shaped for the spring. She threw it into a corner of the room.

Chapter XXV: _Monotone_

Jenny's first thought was an im