The more he thought of it, the more it annoyed him. Christiansen's manner with Jane implied a life-long intimacy. What, in point of fact, did he, Jerry, know about Jane? He had never asked any questions about her people or her past, and she had vouchsafed no information. How did he know when or how she had met this man, what he had been to her? In the haste of their mad marriage, it had not mattered about her past. He intended that she should have only a future with him. He smiled grimly at that. It looked now, as if he might have only a future with Jane!
But after a year and a half of marriage, what did he know about her? About her thoughts, her interests, even her habits? Where did she go on these daily, three-hour absences. Did she meet Christiansen then? He thrust the idea out of his mind to find it tapping for admission again. What kind of egotist and fool had he been, not to learn to know this woman with whom he lived? There was not a person in the room who did not know her as well as he did. Bobs knew her better. He went over to the table, where she presided.
"You look as if you'd rather eat me, than amuse me," she remarked.
"Bobs, would you consider Jane an intellectual woman?" he inquired abruptly.
"Intellectual? Let me see. She is the best-read woman I know. She's a shark on modern poetry; she has a sound acquaintance with the principles of art; she's seen all the pictures and statuary in New York, and has ideas about them; she has looked into the labour question for women. I might not call her intellectual, but I'd call her up-to-the-minute in modern thought."
"Good Lord!" said Jerry.
"Oh, you don't know the first living thing about Jane. The baby knows more about her."
"You needn't rub it in."
"She's the biggest person in this room, is Jane."
"What started you on this Jane worship, Bobs?"