Althea's departure was attended with some disturbance. She demanded a cab instantly, and cab stands do not grow on country roads. Jerry was taking full advantage of his freedom, and stayed away two full hours. Jane sat on, calmly sewing, where Althea had left her.

"I think I must have offended Miss Morton," she said, when Jerry came in.

"How?"

"I found her arrogant and a trifle insulting, so I told her what I thought of her type of woman."

"Ah.... Where is she?"

"In her room."

"But how did she get up there?"

"Walked rapidly." She smiled.

"Jane, you don't think the foot was a fake!" he protested.

"What's the difference? It's well now."

"What is she going to do?"

"She demands a cab. Billy ordered one from the village."

"I'd better go up to her, hadn't I?"

"As you like."

"After all, she is our guest."

"She was the one who forgot that, Jerry."

At that moment Miss Morton appeared, dressed for the train. She walked on to the veranda, entirely forgetful of the injured foot. Her face was very red indeed, her expression neither lily-like nor ecclesiastic.

"I suppose she has told you her version of the story," she said angrily.

"Mrs. Paxton tells me that you are angry, but I could have seen that for myself."

"I want to speak to you alone."

"I prefer that we should talk here."

"I certainly shall not talk before a woman who has insulted me. She called me a savage!"

"Did I?" said Jane, lifting her head in surprise.

"Do I understand that you are going to town?" Jerry asked.

"Yes. You will have to go with me. I can't manage alone, with this foot."

"You seem to be doing very well. I'll put you on the train and wire for them to meet you. I'm sorry, but it is impossible for me to go to town this afternoon."

Bobs sauntered up.

"Hello. Why, what's happened to the invalid?"

"I'm going to town," snapped Althea.

"Are you? What a pity! We shall miss you! You have added such a feminine touch to Jerry's harem."

"I can imagine how much you will miss me, Miss Roberts."

"Oh, I was referring to Jerry. I used the editorial 'we.' Your foot seems to be all right. Such wonderful air, here. Going to town, too, Jerry?"

"No."

"Ah, that is good news. Life is dull without the men, is it not?"

No one answered this. Jerry was driven to asking about her bags.

"The Biggs child carried them down."

"What a treasure is our Billy," said Bobs. "Considering his adenoids, he almost thinks. Fancy his carrying down bags; so sweetly thoughtful."

"Here is the cab," said Jerry, desperately, as it rattled up.

"Do I have to ride two miles in that?" gasped Althea.

"Why not walk? The roads are not very muddy," Bobs said.

"Good-bye, Miss Morton," Jane remarked casually.

Althea nodded, in silence, but Bobs seized her hand and wrung it feverishly.

"Good-bye. You've given us all such a good time," she cried wickedly.

Jerry fairly pushed Althea into the surrey to cut short this painful interview. They rattled off down the road. Bobs did a war dance with whoops, which were plainly heard by the departing ones. Jane laughed.

"Bobs, you were wicked."

"How did this luck befall us, Jane?"

"I stood all I thought necessary from the lady, and then I rose and smote. I disliked doing it in my own house, but it had to be done. She got up in a rage and walked upstairs."

"After being carried down this morning by gentle Jerry! Thank the Lord you've got a temper, Jane."

"Poor Jerry; it made it difficult for him."

"Poor Jerry nothing! He's as glad to see her go as we are. He's had enough of her, Jane."

"That was my plan."

"You mean you stood for her, just so that he would get too much."

"It was only to-day that I found out he had had enough."

"Jane Judd Paxton, you female Machiavelli!"

"It would end in 'a' in the feminine, wouldn't it?" Jane laughed.

"You're a wise woman. I dote on your sagacity."

"Be nice to Jerry to-night, Bobs. Don't tease him."

"Oh, I won't hurt your little boy."

But Bobs was not to be restrained. After dinner she heaved a deep sigh.

"How dull it is without our Althy. She did add so much to the general conversation."

"We probably did not interest her enough to make her talk," Jane said, quick to the rescue.

"What would she be interested with, Jane?"

"Bobs, what will you take to let this subject drop?" said Jerry.

"What do you offer?"

"How about the study I am working on now?"

"Must see it first."

"You shall, in the morning."

"I'm free to-night, then?"

"As you are strong, be merciful."

"You don't deserve it!"

But she did drop the subject. She asked Jane about Christiansen, and if he was coming to see them.

"I haven't asked him yet."

"Wish you would have him while I'm here. I'm crazy about him."

"Ask him, Jane," said the chastened Jerry.

"I will," she said.

It was characteristic of both of them, that she sent a wire to him next day, asking him to come, and he arrived on an evening train.

"Have you ever had so prompt a guest?" he laughed, as he and Jerry came out of the woods, toward the house. He took both her hands, with cordial friendliness.

"It was such luck that my wire found you," she beamed on him.

"I tried to put him in the hack, Jane, but he would walk," said Jerry.

"Of course I would walk. What a charming place," he added.

"We love it," said Jane. "Ah, here's Bobs."

Bobs strode up the road, bare-headed, swinging a stick, like a boy.

"Well met, Atalanta," he called, going to meet her.

"Hurrah for you! Did you meet the invitation on the way out?"

"I started before I read it through," he laughed. "It's good to see you looking so well."

"It's air, and Jane; mostly Jane. Long ago Jerry made an epigram about her. He said: 'Jane can mend anything from a leak in a pipe to a broken heart.'"

They all laughed and Jane turned to Jerry saying curiously:

"Did you say that?"

"I think, with you, that it is too good for me, Jane. But I am more convinced of its truth every day."

"Why not? There must be healing presences, since there are disturbing ones," Christiansen suggested.

Martin was in fine fettle, and from the moment of his arrival, he surcharged the group with his vitality. Even Jerry was aroused by it, and as for Jane, he looked at her and listened to her as if to a stranger. Evidently she and Christiansen were on terms of easy friendship and understanding. It gave him a queer sensation to think of Jane taking a man of Christiansen's distinction as a matter of course. More startling was the fact that Christiansen waited for Jane's opinion as if it were the crux of the discussion.

Until late into the night they talked about ideals in art. Neither Bobs nor Martin showed any surprise at Jane's able expression of her thoughts on the subject, but to Jerry it was a revelation. She had a directness of attack upon an idea which he knew to be characteristic of her, but it suddenly piqued his interest.

"After all, the art ideal is the personal ideal done large," said Christiansen. "The artist can express only such truth as is the content of his own heart and mind."

"That's like your modern ethical religion; it puts it all up to you. God doesn't have to do a thing," protested Jerry.

"God has to be, just as truth has to be. That is the most important thing, isn't it?" Jane asked him.

"That's it, Jane. Art is only the expression of God and truth. It is only the big soul that lets them seep through and take form, without being eaten by the acid of personal failings. If you are bitter, or abnormal, or degenerate yourself, God and truth come through, marked second class."

"It puts a tremendous responsibility upon the artist, as Paxton says, but why should he shirk it? He is the priest of his gift, he must do some penance," Christiansen said.

The summer morn was on its way before they went to their beds.

"Your friend Christiansen is a real person, Jane," Jerry said.

"Our friend, Jerry," was her answer.