Years of Grace · Part III · III · Chapter 3 3 1 (2/2)

“That’s quite as it should be,” said Jimmy. “May I stay to dinner?”

“Of course,” said Jane. Then, before she could stop herself, “Why didn’t you telephone?”

“Why didn’t you telephone me?” said Jimmy, tossing his hat on a table and placing the fiddle-case beside it. “You could have, you know, at the Daily News.”

Jane thought her reason for not telephoning Jimmy might sound a little foolish. If you said you thought a man should telephone you first, it really seemed as if you took the fact that he had not telephoned quite seriously.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jane; “I’ve been busy.”

“So have I,” said Jimmy. “Awfully busy. It’s the first time in six years that I’ve cut loose from a woman’s apron strings in a big city. I like Chicago.”

“Do you like your job?” said Jane severely. Jimmy looked white, she thought, and just a little tired.

“My job?” said Jimmy. “Oh, yes. I like my job. It isn’t very arduous.”

“I hope you’re working at it,” said Jane.

“Now, Jane,” said Jimmy sweetly, “lay off salvation. I get enough of that at home.” He strolled over to the hearthrug and took his stand upon it, his back toward the smouldering fire. He was still smiling. “I met Stephen at noon today. I met him, I regret to tell you, Jane, in the University Club bar. Everyone was talking about this Lancaster’s stroke. Stephen said he was going up to see Mrs. Lancaster this evening. So I thought I’d come out with my fiddle and offer you a little entertainment. I want to play you Debussy’s ‘La Fille aux Cheveux de Laine.’ ”

“How nice of you,” said Jane a little uncertainly.

“Like Debussy?” asked Jimmy.

“Yes,” said Jane.

“Me, too,” said Jimmy.

There was a moment of silence. Jane suddenly realized how dark the room had grown. She turned on a lamp and gat down in her chair by the fireside.

“This is nice,” said Jimmy. “This is very nice.” He was looking interestedly around the chintz-hung living-room. The panelled walls, the books, the Steinway, the few good pieces of mahogany furniture all seemed to meet with his approval. “It’s just like you, Jane. Modern, but not morbid.” He sank into Stephen’s armchair across the hearthrug and picked up the October Question Mark from the table at his elbow. The Question Mark was the monthly magazine of the Lakewood Progressive School. Jimmy idly scanned a photograph of the football squad for a moment in silence and dropped the Question Mark back upon the table. His eye fell upon the copy of the King Arthur stories. “Not at all morbid,” he repeated. His eyes were twinkling as they met Jane’s.

“I must go up and dress for dinner,” said Jane, rising suddenly. “Here’s the newspaper if you’d like to read it until I come down.”

“Are you glad I came?” The question arrested her abruptly in the doorway. Curiously enough, Jane was not quite sure. But⁠—

“Very glad,” said Jane evenly. She mounted the staircase rather slowly. She wasn’t quite sure about the gladness. Nevertheless, she was inexplicably determined to look her best that evening. She would put on that red Poiret tea-gown she had so foolishly bought at a bargain sale last June. She had often regretted that folly. What use had Jane at Lakewood or Gull Rocks for a red Poiret tea-gown?

“Miss Parrot,” said Jane, pausing in the playroom doorway, “I want Steve to wear his blue suit this evening. And tell Cicily and Jenny, please, to put on their new yellow smocks.” On entering her bedroom she rang for the waitress.

“Sarah,” she said, “Mr. Carver will not be home for dinner, but Mr. Trent will stay. We’ll have cocktails. And some of the good sauterne at table. And creme de menthe, please, after the coffee. Be sure and see that the ice is cracked fine. You can pound it in a towel. It ought to be almost pulverized.”

Jane walked slowly to her closet and took out the red tea-gown. Jimmy was something different at Lakewood. Still, she wasn’t quite sure about the gladness. She wished that Agnes were downstairs with him. When Jane realized how much she wished that, she felt better about the gladness. She was even willing to admit to herself how very glad she was.