"Oh, no, we'll manage it easily."
All during dinner and most of the evening he talked about that house. Jane forced herself to equal his enthusiasm, to put out of her mind the thought that she and the child were adding another link to the ball and chain around Jerry's ankle. She feared that they had mortgaged his whole future, with an impossible rent, and yet she could not bear to seem to criticise his decision, nor dampen his ardour. She spent a good part of the night planning how she could come to the rescue with her own work. She must find a market as soon as possible.
The few weeks that were left to them of the summer were very pleasant. They had made some acquaintances in the colony, and joined in the more informal summer festivities. Jerry painted and loafed, seemingly quite contented. Jane marvelled at him sometimes, remembering the restless spring days in town.
The Brendons were off on a cruise. Althea was not mentioned between them. The Bryces motored out for lunch one fall day. They reported the Cricket immured in a summer camp for girls.
"Our one idea is to keep her off of us," said Wally.
"She's not a bad kid, if she'd had any training," Jerry remarked.
"Thanks, Jerry, we'll discuss that with you ten years from now," retorted Mrs. Wally.
Jerry blushed at that. He never thought of the baby as having anything to do with him—it was something belonging to Jane.
September grew cold and a trifle dreary.
"I'm glad we're going to town to-morrow. I hate the country when it's got the blues," said Jerry.