And then, for a little while, they talked of old times and people whom Gregory did not know, but he did not feel left out, only he wondered whether there were many women in the world like these two. Their interests were so varied and deep and they were so, almost exhaustingly, alive.
But with the coffee and cigarettes, they came again to the plans, and Gregory sketched his new idea. They all bent together over the table, suggested, disapproved, argued and contradicted each other, until Gregory forgot he was working with women at all.
It was half past nine when Jean pushed the plans away and stood up.
"Not another word, please," she begged, "or I'll begin on that sun-porch idea of mine and then I never will get to the meeting."
"Does every one's pet wrinkle get included in the general plan? Because I have a couple up my own sleeve," Gregory demanded, as he gathered up the sheets, disappointed that the evening was over.
"Certainly. Didn't I tell you the limit was an expanding quantity? You ought to have seen Mr. Allen's face, Mary, when I told him we didn't know how much we would have to spend."
"We may not know the amount but we know how we're going to get it. And now we've seen you, I think we will notch it up a few pegs, eh, Jean?"
Jean pretended to survey him critically. "Yes, I shouldn't wonder. Oh, Mary, they'll just eat it up, won't they?"
"Who? Me?" Gregory felt a little silly at this banter, but enjoyed it.
"No, the cake, which you will hand 'round."