it was not so much anger at
Jane for being so fascinated by another man that she forgot to come, as
it was indignation at her public affront to his _amour-propre_. This
reception was his first conspicuous success since the pageant. He was
aware that Mrs. Abercrombie Brendon, acting as press agent, had played
up his supposed romance with the mysterious and beautiful creature who
had acted Salome. He knew that curiosity about his wife, and speculation
about Miss Morton's attitude toward that lady, had been much more potent
factors in attracting the big crowd which marched through the Mortons'
house, than any ardent desire to see his portrait of the daughter of the
house.

If Jane, quite unconsciously, had become the Hamlet of the feast, it was
a little too much to have her forget to appear! He had explained her
absence until he was hoarse. Miss Morton, with raised eyebrows and
suggestive tones, had repeated over and over, that for some reason,
Mrs. Paxton had not appeared. She planted the seed most delicately, that
Mrs. Paxton had not come because it was Althea's portrait, and Althea's
party. Jerry felt that she was taking advantage of the situation, but he
could think of no way to turn the trick against her, unless Jane came to
his rescue.

Later, in the restaurant, she had gloried in her suspicion. Jane had
looked much too well, too handsome, to have been the victim of a late
indisposition.

For the first time, Jerry faced the fact that he had married a
personality, not an automaton. The silent, efficient, machine Jane, of
the old days, was not the real Jane at all, or else matrimony had
changed her completely. He felt aggrieved. He could not see how he could
have made such a mistake. From his present point of view, in fact, his
marriage seemed to him like some fantastic act of a man in a fever. Had
he, in order to protect himself from Bobs and Althea, married a woman
more complex than either of them?

He began to wonder why he did not attract Jane? All his life women had
liked him, responded to his boyish charm and his handsome face. He could
not remember that she had once looked at him, as a woman admiring a
fine, bra' lad. She showed no interest in his career, either. He had
taken her from a life of drudgery, given her ease and his name. She
might at least have devoted herself to his interests. He could not spell
her out. She besieged his thoughts; he was never free from her.

He made up his mind to show her hi