"Why?"
After a moment, Gregory answered: "It's years since I've done anything but Stephens and Palmer houses."
Jean reached for the little silver coffee pot and held it over her cup. But it was several moments before she noticed that there was no more coffee in the pot. She put it down.
"That's no reason."
"Oh, yes, it is. If I don't try, I can't fail."
Gregory's lips smiled but his eyes were tired. Jean looked away.
"You wouldn't fail. I'm sure you wouldn't fail."
"It's almost twelve years since I left the Beaux Arts, and I'm putting electric stars on Palmer pergolas."
"You are not!"
"Yes, I am, and glad to do it. You don't understand. Why, the night that I thought most seriously about entering the contest, I felt as if I were presuming, doing something I had no right to do. I walked till almost morning in the woods, and then I threw the beginnings I had made away. You don't understand. The worms have been at work too long inside."