IV
That evening Jimmy played parcheesi with the children. Jane sat at Steve’s elbow and advised him on his moves. Stephen lounged in his armchair and read the Evening Post. Stephen was no parcheesi fan. He was glad to be relieved of a duty that had devolved upon him every evening since Miss Parrot’s departure the week before. Jane thought the game was really quite amusing. They laughed a great deal over Steve’s success with the dice. He sent Jimmy’s foremost man home eight times in succession. It was half-past nine before the game was over.
When the children had gone upstairs, Stephen cast aside his paper with a yawn.
“I’m tired tonight,” he said. “This first hot weather takes it out of you. I’m going up to bed.”
Jane caught a glint of elation in Jimmy’s eye across Stephen’s unconscious figure. Jane did not like that glint. Of course, Jimmy just wanted to sit and gossip by the fire as they had so often gossiped, but he should not have allowed himself to look elated. Curiously, at that moment, Jane thought of her father. “Avoid all appearance of evil.” She thought also of Sarah, washing dishes in the pantry.
“I’m tired, too, Stephen,” she said evenly. “I’d like to turn in early myself.”
The glint of elation in Jimmy’s eyes turned quickly to a look of incredulity, then to one of mock consternation.
“See here,” he protested, “I’m not tired. I’m not tired at all. I was looking forward to a big evening.”
“Sorry,” smiled Jane. “You’re not going to get it.” She turned with Stephen toward the door.
“See here,” said Jimmy again, “are you just going off to bed and leave me standing here on the hearthrug? I don’t call it civil.”
“That’s just what we’re going to do,” smiled Jane. “Goodnight.”
“It’s a sell,” said Jimmy. “It’s not ten o’clock yet. What will I do with myself? I can’t go to sleep for hours. I’ll be reduced to writing a letter to Agnes!”
The mention of Agnes’s name instantly confirmed Jane’s plan to go up with Stephen. He had already started for the stairs.
“That’s a fine idea, Jimmy,” said Jane pleasantly. “There’s notepaper in the desk by the window. Give her my love and tell her I think the concerto is grand.”
Jimmy crossed the hearthrug and stood at her side for a moment in hesitant silence. He laid a restraining finger on her arm.
“Don’t go up, Jane,” he said persuasively. “I want to talk to you.”
“Can’t you talk to me tomorrow?” asked Jane, a trifle uncertainly.
“Good night, Jimmy,” called Stephen from the staircase. “Remember, eighteen holes tomorrow morning!”
Jane turned to glance up at him. He was standing on the landing, looking down on them a little wearily. Jane suddenly thought their figures had assumed a rather intimate pose. She started away from Jimmy and walked out into the hall. She threw him a glance over her shoulder, however. He was gazing after her so wistfully that she could not help twinkling back at him.
“No, I’m going up,” she said pleasantly. “Good night, Jimmy.” She followed Stephen up the darkened staircase and into the mellow lamplight of their little blue bedroom. Stephen, with a familiar gesture, was already hanging his grey sack coat over the back of a chair. He looked up at Jane as she entered.
“You look very pretty tonight in that red thing,” he said.
Jane glanced at herself in the cheval glass—she did look pretty. Her eyes were still twinkling at the thought of deserted Jimmy and her lips were curved in a little involuntary smile. Stephen continued to look at her in silence.
“You’ll miss Jimmy,” said Stephen, “when he goes back East.”
Jane turned to stare at him. Stephen had never made any comment on Jimmy just like that, before. Could Stephen be really—troubled? He went on speaking very evenly.
“But you’ll have more time,” he said. There was a little pause. “I’ve been thinking, Jane,” he continued—what had Stephen been thinking? Jane thought breathlessly—“I’ve been wondering if this wouldn’t be a good spring to see about getting Steve’s teeth straightened. If he wore braces at Gull Rocks this summer—”
Jane turned from him in an absurd surge of irritation. Oh, yes—she would have plenty of time, now, to straighten Steve’s teeth and plan for Gull Rocks and—Stephen was unbuttoning his waistcoat.
“I think you’d better take him in to the dentist—” he began.
“I’ll take him in, Stephen,” said Jane snappishly. “Of course I’ll take him in. Why do you act as if you had to nag me—”
Her voice died down. Stephen had paused, in the act of untying his necktie, to look at her in amazement. Jane walked over to him and laid her hand on his arm. “I’ll take him in, dear,” she said. Her tone was a tacit apology. Stephen went on untying his necktie. Jane slipped out of the Poiret tea-gown. Jimmy, she supposed, was writing a letter to Agnes at the living-room desk downstairs.