Life in the new home fell into its wonted routine. They became accustomed to the new luxuries with the usual ease and celerity. The baby's régime was, for the present, the nurse's affair, except for certain essential contributions on Jane's part. Jerry's sittings began, so Jane took up the old habit of running away to the white room at Mrs. Biggs's, as soon as the house and her son were started on the day. She had three full hours, all her own, and she gloried in them. She attacked the book with fervour. But as she read over the completed chapters, she found no trace of her present self. It seemed dry, too analytical, too intellectualized. "What has happened to me?" she asked herself. "Something has opened up in me like sluice gates. I feel that I want to deluge the whole world with feeling, with happiness." True to her instinct, she began to work over the whole book. For the first time she wrote with abandon. The chapters came hot, fluid, swift. She marvelled at her speed, and with difficulty she dragged herself out of her work-trance to go back to her small son. For two weeks she wrote at white heat; then a crisis arrived. She realized that they could not afford to keep the trained nurse any longer, and her departure meant the loss of Jane's freedom. She thought about it a good deal, pondering a way to work it out. Anna proved a treasure; she marketed, cooked, served; acted as major-domo over the whole establishment, but she could not add baby to her duties. She did not want to confess about her work to Jerry yet, and at the same time she knew she simply could not be interrupted now. "Jerry, the nurse leaves to-morrow," she said to him. "Too bad we can't afford to keep her on." "I was wondering. Your model comes about eleven, doesn't she?" "Usually." "You don't often go out before that, do you?" "No." "Would it make any difference to you if I took my time off from eight to eleven, after baby's early feeding, and would you sort of look after him, if he should wake up before I get back?" He stared at her. "You mean you intend to turn out to walk or shop or whatever you do, at eight in the morning?" "Yes. I have to get up early on baby's account anyway." "But, Jane, I don't know anything about kids. If he cried, I wouldn't know what to do." "I could show you. It is my job the rest of the twenty-four hours, you know." "I suppose it's only fair, but...." "I think you ought to learn what to do for him, just as I did. I might die or get hurt." "Don't be silly." "Is it a bargain? Will you take a three-hour period?" "On your responsibility." "Oh, no; it must be on yours, Jerry. If you don't do a whole-hearted job, I can't trust you. He is our baby, you know--not mine." "All right," he sighed. "When do I begin?" "To-morrow. Come up now, and the nurse and I will show you how to manage him. He almost never wakes up," she reassured him.