"You're great! You'll be a sensation. I'll paint you in that. Look here, you can have the check book to-morrow. I don't know what all the fuss was about, but you're beautiful, and you ought to have what you want."
She slowly shook her head.
"Anything the matter with that?" he cried.
"You're only giving me a bigger present than before. It isn't that you recognize my—my equality."
"For a silent woman you can stir up more words! Don't you want the check book?"
She came to him, laid a hand on his arm, as a mother might reassure a sullen boy.
"Yes, I do want it. Thank you. Now, shall we go?"
Jerry was right: Jane was a sensation at the party. There is nothing that can rally artists to a standard like beauty. She was too observant to be unaware of her effect, too simple to take conspicuous advantage of it. She was just the gentle rather elusive Jane they had all known, only smiling and responsive now, where before she had been silent.
The main surprise was the effect upon Jerry of her unqualified success. He was all possessive male. He acted the devoted husband, played up to the situation in his best manner. Jane found it deliciously amusing.
It would all have gone off with esprit, and less embarrassment than Jane had foreseen, except for one unexpected guest. About midnight, when the party was in full swing, the door opened and Martin Christiansen appeared. He was greeted with shouts of welcome on all sides, but Jane's heart stopped beating.