"Let's walk to the station, up Second Avenue and across, I haven't been down this way for ages." There was an hour yet before train time and Jean knew that she could not sit here, filling the lessening hour with nonsense and silences.
"All right." Gregory signaled the waiter and paid the bill. He was disappointed, but what had he expected? He did not know. He only knew that he had not thought of spending their last hour sauntering among pushcarts. But if that was enough for Jean——And he succeeded so well that Jean's heart grew heavier and heavier and she kept back the tears only by a desperate effort.
But when the reality of separation detached itself in a concrete crowd, in long lines waiting before the ticket windows, the starter booming the trains through a megaphone, and the red-cap who hurried up for Gregory's grip, Jean's pride slipped beyond her hold. She stared ahead and her lips trembled. His arm slipped under hers and drew her closer.
"Jean," he whispered. "Jean, dear." His fingers closed about her bare wrist above the glove.
The hand of the huge clock jerked itself forward another minute. And there was nothing to say. Less than if they had been strangers. With another jerk, the hand touched ten. Gregory dropped Jean's arm. Without a word he hurried through the gate and it closed behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The summer passed. Once in September Gregory came on a flying business trip and left the next day.
Winter closed early with a jealous grip, and Jean worked as even she had never worked before. She managed committees, lobbied bills, spoke at meetings and drove her plans through all opposition.
Dr. Mary was busy with her final thesis. Evening after evening Jean and Martha sat reading quietly as they had done in the old days, and Martha was happy.
Just before Christmas Gregory came unexpectedly, solely to see Jean. They went out to the French roadhouse where he had ordered dinner by a wire to Madam Cateau.