Marriage -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction; Portrait painters -- Fiction; Women novelists -- Fiction
In July the Paxtons were asked to spend a week with the Abercrombie
Brendons, at their country place. One of the guests was to be a woman
who wanted her portrait painted, because she admired Jerry's portrait of
Mrs. Brendon so extravagantly. Jerry read the note, which Jane passed to
him, at the breakfast table one morning.
"How do you feel about it?"
"Would you mind if I stayed here? Bobs could come and keep me company."
"You look all right, if that's it."
"I'll go, if you think I should, Jerry."
"I don't see why you should, if it would bore you. I don't want to go
myself, I like it here. Suppose you write her that you don't feel up to
it, or have some guests, but that I will come. I'd like you to go with
me," he added.
"Thanks. I'm better off here."
It was settled that way, and in due time Jerry departed, and Bobs
arrived.
"My-o-me, but this is Paradise, Jane Judd, after the hot streets of New
York," sighed Bobs, as they walked in the garden the night of her
arrival.
"I could hardly bear to think of you in that studio these days. It must
be an oven, with all that skylight."
"I've been too busy to notice."
"Too busy to eat, too, I judge by this thin hand," said Jane, patting
the hand on her arm. "I'm going to give you such a dose of rest and
fresh air that you will protest."
"Have rest and air done it to you, Jane? You have a sort of radiance
about you."
"It's the moonlight," Jane smiled.
"How do you manage it, Jane?"
"Manage what, dear?"
"To keep your balance all the time? Not to be bowled over by your own
emotions?"
"I know a man who said to me, 'I find it necessary to cover my troubles
with a protective coating, a something of my mind that prevents them
from poisoning the whole internal atmosphere.' There is some quality of
mind and heart that does this, just as the healthy blood does it for the
germs. It does not kill them, but it cuts them off from poisonous
contact."
"I don't know how to get this spiritual antiseptic. Would your friend
give me the formula, do you think?"
"I think we all have to work out our own, Bobs."
They paced the little garden paths in silence for a time.
"You've helped me, more than any one, to get through the most difficult
period of my life, Jane."
"I'm glad, dear."
"You're a good soldier; you stand up to things. I'm ashamed to whimper
to you about a bullet in my heart."
"It helps some people to whimper, Bobs. It helps me not to. It's nothing
to my credit, and I shall think no less of you, if you let go, give way
to it, submit to a surgeon. Then we can build new tissue."
"I'm all right, Jane, I'm building now."
"Isn't the garden fragrant to-night?"
"It's like distilled peace. Have you and Jerry been happy here?"
"We've enjoyed it very much. Jerry seems contented. He works and swims
and loafs. We take long tramps in the woods, and up the beach; it is
pleasant."
"Why didn't you go to the Brendons', Jane?"
"I preferred you to the Brendons; there's a compliment."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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