to me, and I am deeply regretful if I have
forfeited them."

"Who said you'd forfeited them? I say I arranged a splendid match for
you, and you wouldn't do your part. You are a fool, that's all."

"Granted. Now, when will you and the rest of the cruising party come to
tea and meet Mrs. Paxton?"

"I don't want to meet her. I'm furious at her."

"You won't be when you know her. Nobody would be furious, and stay
furious at Jane."

"Althea won't come and see you making eyes at her."

"I shall ask her anyway. What day suits you, or don't you want to come?"

"Of course, I want to come. I'm curious about the woman. Say Wednesday
at five. Now, when are you going to begin work on my portrait?"

"We'll make an appointment for next week, if you like."

"Jerry, we nearly died of laughter over your letters about the Bryce
child. You sounded so noble and so furious. Has she gotten over her
trouble?"

"She still writes to me. They ought to shut that child up, right now,
for the rest of her life," he said.

Half an hour later he left the lady in a very good humour and he decided
that he had handled a difficult situation with some finesse. He reported
to Jane, who made no comment. She wrote the invitations to the others,
at his suggestion. She included Christiansen and some of the artist
set.

"I shall ask Miss Roberts to pour tea," she said.

"Good idea. Don't believe she'll do it, but you might try."

She went to Bobs's door, that very minute, and knocked.

"What is it?" ungraciously from within.

"It's Jane. May I come in?"

She opened the door and entered. Bobs sat at work. She just looked at
Jane, the same look of intense feeling which she had turned on her since
her marriage.

"I wish you would not hate me so," Jane said directly. "We missed you
out at the Chatfields' party, and ever since."

"I've been ill."

"Will you come and help us entertain Jerry's uptown friends on
Wednesday? We both want you so much."

"Oh, I can't."

"I'm sorry. Jerry wants you, and I need you," she said, turning to go.

"I'll come," said Bobs.

"May I look at your work?" shyly.

"You won't like it."

Jane came to stand beside her, looking at the small figures already
modelled in plaster.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It is called 'Woman.' I am trying to express the progress of woman
through the happy ages," laughed Bobs harshly.

In the little model the figures of the women leaned on each other, hand
on shoulder, as