He laid aside any suggestion that she cared for him when she married him; he knew she did not. In fact, it was her indifference to him, her elusiveness, which had roused his senses--which had driven him to try to reach her by clumsy physical means--but he had failed. Jane said that she had met Christiansen at the pageant for the first time, but was that the truth? Had he played some part in her life before that? Was it probable that a man like Christiansen would have been attracted solely by her performance of Salome--into such quick intimacy as theirs? Suppose he, Jerry, had been used as a cat's-paw between them. He flagellated himself for that suspicion. It was contemptible in the light of what he knew of Jane. Could poverty have driven Jane into marriage? She had lived for years on what she made, apparently. She had no relatives, nor dependents. Besides, he thought she would have disdained surrender, on those grounds. It was a deeper reason than this, as she had said. Worn out with his unusual self-scrutiny, he left the Park and went to call on Mrs. Brendon. She was at home and welcomed him gaily. He explained that Jane and the baby had deserted him and that he was a lone bachelor in search of friends and comfort. "Which means you're a wolf in sheep's clothing," she laughed. "I feel like the sacrificial 'lamb,'" he replied, and marvelled that he could talk so lightly. "Well, there is nothing so good for husbands, I contend, as a dose of absence. Men need unsettling, they get so rutty. Business, club, home, ditto, ditto, ditto." "I suppose it's also sauce for the goose?" "Oh, yes. I hope Jane will get a beau and flirt with him abominably." "Can you think of Jane flirting?" "No, that's why I think she needs it. Jane takes life too seriously." "It's rather a question about which is the better way to take it, don't you think?" "Life? Not a bit. Take it any way you like, but don't take it hard." "I find I get a trifle bored with those of us who take it too lightly." "That's a Janeism, Jerry." He laughed at that. She ordered him home to dress and back for dinner, and he accepted gratefully--glad of anything to kill time and keep his mind off of his troubles. He sat next Althea at dinner, and, for once, she failed to reproach him for past misdemeanours and devoted herself to being agreeable. Several parties were planned on the spot, and Jerry joined in with enthusiasm. "It is nice to see you enjoying your vacation so much," Althea remarked. "A broken heart worn on the sleeve is a sad sight, you know," he replied. He plunged with desperation into such diversion as his uptown friends offered. He knew what was ahead of him in the night hours spent in the studio. The first week passed somehow. His friends said Jerry had never been so gay and such good company. Jerry could barely remember where they went or what they did. Bobs came in one night in the second week, about six o'clock, as Jerry was deciding where to go.