"Hasn't he told you about his wife?"

"No. I did not know he had one."

"That's rather queer, isn't it, if he's such a good friend?"

"I think not. Our relation is intellectual, not personal."

"Jane, you don't believe in platonic friendship, do you?"

"Certainly, between some types of men and women."

He laughed, and shook his head.

"The story is that his wife is a nervous wreck, who lives in hospitals.
They say that he was deeply in love with her, that he has always been
true to her."

"Yes, he would be that."

"Great chap. I'm afraid of him, myself. He doesn't think much of me, I
imagine."

"We have not spoken of you," she said simply.

After their late lunch, they took a taxi to Jane's tenement. There, she
told her news to Mrs. Biggs, and explained that she was taking a few
things for the night, that she would come the next day to dismantle and
move her belongings.

Some inexplicable instinct had made her ask Jerry to wait in the cab.
Alone, she let herself into the white room. Milly followed her with loud
purrings. She took her up, held her close, while she looked about at the
familiar surroundings.

"Milly, Milly, what have I done?" she whispered. "I'm frightened at
myself. I want to come back."

She set herself deliberately to collect her things, hoping to control a
climax of emotions with accustomed commonplace actions.

"Milly, we are not making a very good showing with a bridal outfit," she
said chokingly.

Mrs. Biggs, panting with curiosity, came in with offers of help.

"Look after Milly, will you, Mrs. Biggs? I may leave her with you for
good."

"Don't he like cats?"

"I don't know."

Jane put on her best black dress, with the white collar and cuffs, and
piled her hair softly at the back of her head, as her only concession to
the new situation.

"Why, Miss Judd, I should say Mrs. Paxton, ye look real purty. I didn't
s'pose it was in ye."

"Thank you, Mrs. Biggs," Jane laughed.

She bade good-bye to her landlady and Milly, and hurried downstairs.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, Mr. Paxton."

"Not at all. Why wouldn't you let me go up and see your room, Jane?"

"I don't know," she answered.

As Jerry let them into the studio, he turned to her.

"Welcome home, Jane."

"Thank you," she said, her heart beating high.

"Couldn't you say, 'thanks, Jerry?'"

"Thanks, Jerry," repeated Jane slowly, and with feeling.

CHAPTER XII

The weeks that followe