They had talked of it before. Baldy refused to see possibilities in Jane. “Since you bobbed your hair, you’re too modern——” She was, rather, medieval, with her straight-cut frocks and her straight-cut locks. But she was a figure so familiar that she failed to appeal to his imagination.
“Editors like ’em modern, don’t they?”
But his thoughts had winged themselves to that other woman whom his fancy painted in a thousand poses.
“If Edith Towne were here—I’d put her on a marble bench beside a sapphire sea.”
“I’ll bet you couldn’t get an editor in the world to look at it. Sapphire seas and classic ladies are a million years behind the times——”
“They are never behind the times——”
Jane shrugged, and changed the subject. “Darling—if you’ll put your mind to mundane things for a moment. To-morrow is Thanksgiving Day, the Follettes are to dine with us, and we haven’t any turkey.”
“You were to get it when you went to town, and now you’re not going——”
“I am not—not for all the turkeys in the world. We can have roast chickens. That’s simple enough, Janey.”