Jean wanted to drop on her knees, put her arms about Puck and explain straight into those stern, hurt eyes.
"Good-night," she said, and without another word, Puck marched out of the room.
"Come, Mrs. Herrick, I'm afraid everything is spoiled as it is." Margaret led the way to the dining-room and they sat down in a silence that Jean felt was never going to be broken. When Margaret spoke, Jean turned to her gladly.
"I've been thinking all day about what you told us yesterday and I'm getting more excited every moment. Why, it's perfectly tremendous, that idea of a woman's congress, something bigger than women have ever done before. Mrs. Herrick is planning a general woman's congress, Gregory, to deal with women's problems all over the country."
Gregory Allen did not answer. Margaret bit her lips with vexation and then hurried along to cover the breach of his rudeness.
"Won't you tell me some more about it, Mrs. Herrick? You presented so many new points, even in the Garbage Disposal, that I know I didn't get half of them clear. As I understand it, all the clubs with civic divisions already formed, will come together in a central body right away? Don't you think that's a great idea, Gregory?"
Under pretext of passing him the crackers, Margaret made a last effort to draw him in. Jean's anger vanished in pity for her. She was like a bright moth buzzing helplessly against a silent, bronze Buddha.
What thousands of meals they must have had like this, Margaret's enthusiasm pricking at his silence!
Jean had not wanted to talk about the Congress at all, but now she plunged in, before Gregory could answer.
Beyond their voices Gregory sat, catching a phrase now and then that interrupted the trend of his thought but did not turn it. Nothing was real but the fact that Jean had come back into his days. Through no action of his own, she was sitting at his table. He had closed a door of his life and Fate had opened it.