The Fenninger dinner was a success, and Jean waited all the next morning for Gregory to 'phone. She so thoroughly expected him to, and waited so impatiently, enjoying in anticipation certain shadings which she knew would delight him, that, late in the afternoon, when the alternative of calling him occurred to her, Jean could not do it. She did not like to feel this way, and told herself that her own interest had colored her perspective. There was no need for Gregory to rush to the 'phone as soon as he came back from his week-end with his family, when she would surely see him in the evening. Nevertheless, that night at dinner, when Mary asked her if she had heard from Gregory, Jean felt a relief out of all proportion to the explanation she had forced on her own logic.
"Funny, he didn't ring up."
Jean cracked a walnut with great deliberation. "I suppose he's extra busy."
"Not so busy as all that. Jean, you can say what you like, but he was angry. I imagine, in some moods; he would be awfully touchy, and evidently he was in one that night. But he'll never be able to resist long."
Jean picked the meat carefully from the shell and ate it slowly.
"Let's string him a bit first," Mary continued, "pretend we couldn't work Fenninger and then spring it on him. He'll smile, then gurgle and finally explode like a small boy."
Jean reached for another nut. "He is like a small boy, very often."
There was a silence, while Mary chose a bunch of raisins from the nut dish and ate them thoughtfully.
"It's a damn shame," she said suddenly, apropos of nothing.
Jean rose and pushed back her chair.