"Never."
"Don't be alarmed. It won't be to-morrow. Not until winter. Right after the first blizzard we give a tea, very exclusive, only the rich invited. You've made a nice technical plan full of dotted lines and cross-sections, guaranteed to confuse any living female. Said plan hangs upon wall, real live architect, all dressed up, explains. Money pours in. By summer tenements are. Tenants move in. Q.E.D."
Gregory shook his head. "Plans until you're both dizzy with them, every female in the world sick with the blind staggers—but no tea."
"Oh, by that time, you'll be such a reformed character you'll beg to come."
Laughing, Jean moved to the door and Gregory followed. Dr. Mary came as far as the front door and watched them down the steps. On the sidewalk, Jean held out her hand.
"Good-night."
But Gregory Allen fell into step beside her. "Don't condemn me, please, to a roasting hot apartment alone or to a Broadway show. Mayn't I come? I'd like to see this Rachael."
"Of course, gladly, if you care to. But a lot of it will be in Yiddish and it will be fearfully hot and smelly. I want to talk with the committee and after the meeting is the best time."
Gregory did not answer but walked along beside her. She told him more of Rachael, banished by her family because of her love for the Gentile Tom; of the frightful conditions in the garment trade and the faith of her people in Rachael. Gregory Allen heard only stray phrases here and there. But he felt Jean's strength and belief as she swung along beside him, as unwearied as if the day were just beginning. When a woman was wonderful she was very wonderful indeed.
The hall was packed. From wall to wall a flat surface of women's dusky heads swayed like a dark sea, with here and there, like rocks rising above the surface, the hatted heads of men. From this sea rose a suppressed rumble, so that the walls seemed to vibrate with the throttled protest. As Gregory followed Jean to the seats instantly vacated for them, he felt as if he were dropping down far below the daily surface of his life. And as he took his seat it seemed to him that a trap literally closed above him, a trap of foul air, so thick it had the quality of iron, and of rebellion so unbreakable that it had the resistance of steel. A trap that, once having sprung, would never again rise above the imprisoned below. He looked to Jean. But Jean did not seem to be imprisoned in a foul subsurface. Her eyes glowed with excited interest and he realized that this was not a strange scene to her, but part of her daily interest.