He was strangely silent during their homeward journey in the omnibus and the simple evening meal, and Aline, sensitive to his mood, choked down the eager questions that rose to her lips. It was only after supper in the studio, when she lit the spill for Jimmie's pipe--her economical soul deprecating waste in matches--that she ventured to say softly:
“I am afraid you'll miss the picture, Jimmie dear.”
He waited until the pipe was alight, and breathed out a puff of smoke with a sigh.
“Our happiness is made up of the things we miss,” he said.
“That's a paradox, and I don't believe it,” said Aline.
“Everything in life is a paradox,” he remarked, thinking of his logic. He relapsed into his perplexed silence. Aline settled herself in her usual chair with her workbasket and her eternal sewing. This evening she was recuffing his shirts. Presently she held up a cuff.
“See. I'm determined to make you smart and fashionable. I don't care what you say. These are square.”
“Are n't you putting a round man into a square cuff, my dear?” he asked.
She laughed. “Why should you be round? You are smart and rectangular. When you're tidied up--don't you know you are exceedingly good-looking, almost military?”
She was delighted to get him back to foolish talk. His preoccupation had disturbed her. Like Connie Deering, she was femininely conscious that something out of the ordinary had passed between Norma and Jimmie, and apprehension as to her dear one's peace of mind had filled her with many imaginings. He returned a smiling answer. She bestirred herself to amuse. Had he remarked the man in the omnibus? His nose cut it into two compartments. What would he do if he had such a nose? Jimmie felt that he had been selfish and fell into the child's humour. He said that he would blow it. They discussed the subject of noses. He quoted Tristram Shandy. Did she remember him reading to her “Slawkenbergius's Tale”?
“The silliest story I ever heard in my life!” cried Aline. “It had neither head nor tail.”
“That is the beauty of it,” said Jimmie. “It is all nose.”
“No. The only story about a nose that is worth anything,” Aline declared with conviction of her age and sex, “is 'Cyrano de Bergerac.'” She paused as a thought passed swiftly through her mind. “Do you know, if you had a nose like that, you would remind me of Cyrano?”