Jared had not progressed so far, however. Nor indeed had she. Flesh was of the flesh. When she thought of Jared in the flesh, she thought of his body. His spirit was apart. She could and did think of his spirit, but it was something in itself. Spiritually he was a creator. Just now, of course, he was only a beginner. He was creating tools, mechanisms to satisfy his creative compulsion. He had to make something with his hands, something he could see and use, a noble instinct, but on a first level, His creativity was motivated by compassion, a worthy instinct, but not strong enough in itself to reach the fulfillment of his capacity as a creator. In days gone by, the creator always found his fulfillment in art, but now the greatest artists were scientists. Science was so exciting, so new, so all but insuperable that it challenged every creative mind. She had no doubt that if he were not impeded, Jared would grow into a great scientist.
If he were not impeded! But no one could impede him except her, herself. Somehow she had come into his life at a moment when he needed to worship and he had worshiped her. What does a woman do with a man’s worship? She can destroy it by her own selfish need — or she can use it for his development and growth.
I must never let him know, she thought.
But know what?
She must never let him know that she was merely woman. She must never descend to daily need, if she wanted to keep him. No, even that was selfish. There could be no question of “keeping.” She must rise to heights of her own. She must be quite willing to release him while she loved him — even because she loved him, for love, if it be true, seeks only the fulfillment of the beloved and this on the highest level.
Slowly, day after day, she moved her way dimly to a new definition of love, eliminating every trace of selfishness in order that she might find the purest satisfaction. Slowly she rejected even loneliness and became no more alone but absorbed in her search for the substance of love in its essence. And all during this search she did not write to Jared or telephone him. She needed to be alone in order to outlive loneliness. When she was no longer lonely, she would find him again, or he would find her.
In such mood the days passed in the silent house. Days passed in which she spoke to no one except lo acknowledge Henry’s greeting, or answer his wife’s occasional question.
“Is everything all right, Mrs. Chardman?”
“Yes, thank you, Margaret.”
“Is there anything you would fancy to eat?”
“No, thank you. Whatever you prepare — it’s quite all right.”
Days passed into weeks. The snow fell heavily now and settled into permanence. Winter loomed. She wondered if she should return to her own house, and did not. Edwin was gone, and she lived entirely in the presence of Jared. He was no longer the young man from whom she had withdrawn herself. Slowly she came to see him as the man he would be someday, Jared the fulfilled, Jared the creator, master of himself, imaginative, dedicated, uncompromising in his creativity. He had become one of the few great men of his time, his acts of creation of art were no longer mere inventions. How would she know his greatness? When artist and scientist combined in him, he would be that great man.
…“Now I have found you,” Jared said.
He announced himself by arrival. She was at the piano that morning when the doorbell rang. She stopped to listen, she waited for Henry or Margaret to open the door but neither appeared. Then she opened the door herself and Jared stood there in the rain. Three days of rain had washed away the last snowfall.
“Have you been looking for me?” she asked. “Everywhere. No one could tell me where you were.”
“Because I told no one.”
“You wanted to hide from me!”
“Come in out of the rain.”
She threw the door wide, he shook himself, and came in, and took off his raincoat and hat. At the same moment Henry appeared, astonished at a guest, and taking both hat and coat, looked at her with inquiring eyes.
“Yes, Henry,” she said. “Mr. Barnow will be here — for the night, Jared?”
“If you’ll have me, but tomorrow I am taking you home.”
She did not reply to this, but led the way to the living room. The wind from the open door had blown the sheets of her music about, and he stooped and picked them up and set them on the rack of the piano. Then he sat down and looked her straight in the eyes.
“I’m doing what you told me to do,” he said. “I am marrying June Blaine.”
She heard and did not hear. Instead there was the rush of a sudden downpour of wind-driven rain. It beat against the French windows, it thundered upon the stones of the terrace. She lifted her head and listened to the sound of the storm.
“We’ll not get away tomorrow,” she murmured.
He stared at her. “Are you all right, Edith?”
When she did not reply he went to her and took her face between his palms. “I asked you, are you all right, Edith?”
She looked into his eyes. “Yes,” she said distinctly.
He released her then but he stood looking down at her. “You’ve been too long alone, that’s what’s wrong.”
She pushed him away gently. “Oh, no, I’m quite happy being alone. I’ve learned how.”
“I’m still in love with you,” he said with bitterness.
“Don’t say it!” she cried.
“But I will say it,” he insisted. “It’s hopeless, I know — but true, for all that!”
“It’s not fair to June,” she said.
“She knows,” he said doggedly. “I couldn’t marry her otherwise. Between you and me, I’ve told her, everything must be the same — forever.”
He turned away from her and walked to the window and stared out into the storm. “I hope I’m not trying to substitute her for you!”
This was no longer to be borne. She determined not to bear it. By force she would break the mood, too tense, too charged with emotion.
“Impossible,” she declared. “We are two entirely different women!”
In her heart she added, “She has her place — but I have mine!”
But she did not speak the words aloud.
…The change in mood continued. Henry entered at this moment to announce luncheon and over the business of food and drink, Jared’s appetite excellent, she made a show of mild interest in his plans.
“Shall you marry soon, Jared?”
“After she graduates from college in June.”
“Still so young! Lucky you!”
“I’ve known her for a couple of years, remember!”
“She’s a sensible little thing.”
“I wouldn’t marry her otherwise. I’ve made it clear to her that I have my work to do and that comes first — always will. It’s the penalty for marrying a dedicated scientist.”
“Shall you stay at this rehabilitation work?”
“No. Not really. I see now that it’s a side job, an avocation. I’ll always work at it occasionally. But it’s not my real job.”
He frowned and she waited. He began again. “I don’t know what my work is. Mending broken bodies — yes, of course, but that’s not it. Something in mathematics. I love the order, the elegance of mathematics. But even that is merely a tool, a means. I want to discover—”
“What?” She pressed him when he paused.
He lifted eyes half apologetic. “You’ll laugh — but it’s the only word that fits. I want to discover — the universe.”
“Thank God!” she cried softly under her breath.
He frowned again. “Why do you thank God?”
“Because you belong in your laboratory, Jared.”
She spoke with such decision that he put down knife and fork.