Jean touched the electric button on her desk and Josephine Grimes appeared with notebook and pencil. She was a tall, spare woman, impelled through life by devotion to an invalid sister, to the Charity Organization Society of New York City, and to Jean. The three were somehow connected in Miss Grimes' mind and she never tried to separate them.
Jean handed her a pile of mail. "All the regular thing, except that one on top. That's very extra special. It's from Gregory Allen, the architect Selina Mitchell thinks might be interested in the tubercular tenements. He says he'd like to talk things over. So write him, conveying something between abject gratitude and decent self-respect, and make it to-morrow at 3.30."
Miss Grimes nodded and turned to the door. She never made any comment on these semi-personal confidences from Jean, but at night they were retailed verbatim to the invalid sister.
"And tell any one who rings up that I won't be back to-day, but, under pain of death, don't give them the house number. Except Rachael Cohen. But I don't think she will, because she knows I know about the meeting to-morrow night and I'll be there."
Again Miss Grimes nodded and disappeared. Jean sat on at the desk for a few moments, smiling into space. Then she locked the lid with a snap, put on her hat without looking into the glass, snatched her gloves and black leather wallet and left the office for the Grand Central Station.
The train was just pulling in, as Jean elbowed her way through the waiting crowd, pressed close to the iron grille. It seemed as if all the people in the world went by before she saw her, the same stout figure, the same eager peering through the gold pince-nez. Jean waved frantically. Mary stopped, stared for a reassuring second, dropped her grip and came at a trot, calling back over her shoulders to the bewildered red-cap to pick it up.
"Mary—oh—you——"
"Not a word or I shall weep. Lead me to the decent seclusion of a cab. I haven't wanted to cry for thirty years."
Safe in a taxi, they looked at each other and laughed.
"Mary, I haven't been able to do a thing since I got your wire. Why didn't you write me?"