"The Bald One is outgrowing his title, Jane; he's getting quite a respectable wig." "Yes--isn't it too bad." "I don't know, Jane. Our æsthetic ideals are such that a bald child of eight or ten would not be considered beautiful." "Do you think he looks well, Jerry?" "Yes, fine. He's all right. Terrifying, the way the little wretch gets sick and well. Jane, my dear!" he added, for she went so white at his words. "I can't get over it. If I think back to that night I almost die." "Let's forget it, dear; it's over, and we're all here together. Perhaps a little more together than we ever were before," he said, with his first reference to the situation. "You were wonderful, Jerry. I did not know how strong and tender you could be." "Christiansen called me up, Jane." "Yes." "I told him you and Baby had been ill, that I had been with you. He felt that he must see you, too." "Well?" "I told him you were here." "Oh, Jerry!" "He is coming to-morrow." "I can't see him. I can't stand any more emotion just now," she said anxiously. "Jane, do you care for him so much?" She closed her eyes, a second, without replying. "When to-morrow?" she asked finally. "In the afternoon," he said. They did not speak of it again, but something had happened to their new-found oneness. They both tried to be perfectly natural and at ease, but the ghost of Martin was in the room. The next day he came. He was all concern at Jane's white face. He knew in a second what a crisis she had passed through, and so he made no least reference to anything that had gone before, anything that was to be. He was dear, big Martin, delighted with the baby, courteous to Jerry, at ease in the midst of their self-consciousness. So in the end he dominated the scene. Jerry and Anna took their small charge for a drive, leaving Martin and Jane alone. As they departed, Jane was filled with terror. She was so afraid of emotion. "Jerry is an enemy to be proud of," said Martin. "Jerry is a fine man, Martin," Jane answered. He looked at her long, holding her steady eyes with his. "You have suffered much, beloved," he said softly. "I did not come to intrude, or to demand an answer. I came because I had to know what had hurt you." "I thought I had brought Baby here and risked his life. If he had died, I should have died, too," she said simply. "I know. Let us not speak of it at all. Let's talk of the new book." "The new book? Why, Martin, I had forgotten!" she exclaimed. "Dear child," he said tenderly, "they have been deep waters!" "The book--is it selling?" she asked. "Yes. They told me they had good news for you." They drifted off into talk of other things, new books, a new opera, a poet he had met. It was as if he took her into the arms of his spirit, and there she was at rest. The time flew as it always did when they were together. Jane felt the call back to life and work, the stimulus of his vitality.