rself a
celebrity of sorts, complimented and deferred to. It amused her greatly,
but the most interesting thing was Jerry's attitude. His early
resentment at her conspicuous new position had resolved into a semblance
of pride in her triumphs. The night of the Brandons' dinner she
continually was reminded of his attitude the first night he introduced
her as his wife, at Jinny Chatfield's studio party. Then, as now, he had
paid her court, possessed her, exhibited her.

Jane took her new position calmly. Her sense of humour saved her from
any undue inflation of values. She accepted the comments of those who
pretended they had read her book--relying on an outburst of adjectives
to protect the falsehood--as sweetly as she did the over-serious
consideration of some of the others.

"A masterly handling of the woman question, Mrs. Paxton," said the man
who sat next her at table.

"I wish we might call it the human question; it is yours as well as
ours, you know," she answered.

Her partner quoted the remark for weeks following the reiteration--"that
brilliant Mrs. Jerry Paxton said to me the other night at dinner...."
etc.

It is of just such trifles that reputations are built, the right word
here, an exclamation there, and the thing is done.

"Well, Jane, you're a success as a celebrity," Jerry remarked on the way
home.

"It is pleasant to have people friendly, but it is amusing to have them
make such a fuss, isn't it? You've always known you were the kind of
person you are; it seems strange that you have to do a special,
conspicuous thing to get people to see it."

Jerry laughed.

"You ungrateful wretch," he exclaimed. "I don't believe you care a rap
about this part of your success."

"I don't; I hate it. I'd like to slip away and not hear any more about
that book. I loved writing it and the making of it, but this fol-de-rol
seems so childish."

"Mrs. Brendon would like that 'fol-de-rol!' She thinks that dinner was a
brilliant event."

"It was sweet of her, of course."

"You get more of an enigma to me, Jane, as time goes on. You haven't one
iota of personal vanity. Now, I love every ounce of success I can get.
I'd like to be perpetual guest of honour. I want all the pomp and
circumstance I can manage. That's how vain I am."

"I understand it, in you, Jerry, but I seem to be entirely different."

So sensitive was Jerry to public opinion that by insensible degrees he
drifted into an acceptance of Jane's ne