I have only admitted it to myself in the
last few days--since my freedom came."

"Your wife is dead?" Jerry asked quietly.

"Yes."

"What do you want me to do, Jane?" Jerry said.

"I want you to believe what Martin said--that he never knew he cared
until now--that this hour brought the first word of sentiment between
us. That it was an accident--an explosion. You do believe that, Jerry?"

"If you like."

"It is the truth."

"Don't let's talk about the truth of what has happened or what has not;
the only question is: what are we to do?" Jerry cried sharply, like a
man keeping difficult control of himself.

"I'll go," said Martin.

"No, you'll stay. Jane may need you," Jerry said.

"Very well. I am at her service entirely. I wanted to spare you," Martin
said.

"You're a little late in considering me, Christiansen!" bitterly.

"Jerry, don't you see this is not anybody's fault? Martin didn't mean it
to happen; I didn't mean it to; certainly you didn't. Can't we be quite
patient with each other and try to get it straightened?"

"I'm trying to be patient, Jane, but I'm not a saint, and by God! the
thing I want to do is to kick him, so don't begrudge me a few words;
after all, you are my wife; this is my house, he has outraged my
rights."

"Jerry, you haven't any rights in me or in our home apart from _our_
rights. Won't you understand that your honour is my honour, that only in
so far as we let it get smirched can it be smirched."

"I can't match words with you, Jane. Say what you want and let's get
through with it."

"Paxton, your wife has given me no reason to believe that my love is of
any importance to her. Couldn't we...?"

"I'm not here to interrogate my wife, nor ask for any justification of
her feelings. I only want her to decide what she wants me to do."

"Jerry, what do you want to do?" she asked him.

He hesitated several seconds.

"If you love him, I want to get out of your way as soon as possible," he
answered.

"And if I do not love him?"

"Then I want him to get out."

Jane went over to the window and looked out into the early evening for
some moments. The two men scarcely stirred. Then suddenly, as if
something snapped, Jerry laughed.

"It's just like Candida, isn't it?" he said bitterly. "You, poet, must
offer her high moments, and I, the dull husband, must offer my need of
her!"

"Oh, Jerry, don't," said Jane, coming to him swiftly.

"Then for God's sake, put us out of our