"Things collect and get to be important. Possessions smother you. Oh! no, I should hate to be rich." "Jane, I sometimes feel as if I had married a female Bernard Shaw!" Again she laughed, and he noticed it was a pleasant sound. CHAPTER XIV The day of Mrs. Brendon's first sitting began a new era for Jane. As soon as the studio was in order, on the morning she was expected, Jane appeared in hat and coat, ready for the street. "Aren't you going to stay to receive Mrs. Brendon?" Jerry asked, faintly aggrieved. "Why, no. It is scarcely necessary, is it? I have some other things to do." "Just as you like, of course." She nodded to him, and went out. Once on the street, she drew a deep breath, and turned her steps into an old and frequent walk, across the square to the crooked street, where grew the model tenement, where Jane Judd had spent her nights for so many years. She climbed the stairs gaily, and found Mrs. Biggs at home. "I got yer letter," she said, after a cordial greeting, "and I ain't done nuthin' to the room, just like you told me." "Thanks. I mean to keep it for awhile, Mrs. Biggs, to store some of my things in. I want a place of my own to spread out in. You see, our flat is mostly studio, and Mr. Paxton's things take up all the room." "Sure. Awful messy, ain't they, them painters?" "You can't expect them to paint and be neat, too. How are you and Billy?" "All right. We miss ye like anything, Miss Judd, I should say Mrs. Paxton. You never was much of a talker, but we got used to you, an' it seems real lonesome without ye. Milly misses you awful." "Where is she?" "Out on the fire-escape, in the sun." She opened the window and urged Milly in. Jane spoke to her, but Milly showed no signs of recognition. She permitted Jane to pet her, and when she started for the old room, the cat followed, out of habit. Inside the room with the door locked, and Milly in her old accustomed chair, Jane laid off her things and looked about her fondly. She threw open the windows to let in the air and sun. She dusted, sat down at her desk, filled her pen, and drew the old notebook to her. For a while she did not write, she just sat and contemplated. It seemed years instead of months since she belonged here, in this cool, white, impersonal place. She had grown used to warm harmonies of colour in her surroundings, but it seemed to her that she could never create there, she needed this space, and peace. For days she had felt the urge to write, and the thought of this haven of hers had been always in her mind. She had not told Jerry of her determination to retain her old room. It needed so much explanation, so much self-revelation, which she was not prepared to give him yet, nor he to accept. Meanwhile, when he was busy with his great ladies, she could slip away to her own work. She drew the page nearer and began to write.... It seemed five minutes later that Mrs. Biggs knocked at the door. "One o'clock," she called.