Nan joined with Gerte and Philip. Beth ate in placid silence. With this grouping of interests the meal continued, until coffee, which was served in a small basement room, cozily furnished, before an open fire.
Immediately after the coffee, all but Catherine went their way. No one said good-night, or made any mention of seeing Jean again, although Jean was sure that they had liked her. Their "freedom" had hardened to a ritual of incivility. If she stayed for a week or a month, she would see these women, tired, gay, bored, happy, and they would see her in these many moods too. They would call each other by their first names. But, if she left to-night they would probably never think of her again, nor she of them.
Jean stared into the fire, and a little of the feeling that she had had long ago on Flop's balcony, of there being so many people in the world with the threads of their lives all crossing, came back. She thought how strange it was that a few hours ago she had known nothing of these women or Grove Street, and now she was there, and Catherine was explaining the community plan on which the house worked and, finally, asking her if she wanted to come in.
"Of course we'll take a vote on you, it's part of the charter, but it's only a form." She hesitated and added, almost shyly, "I think you would be comfortable and we would really like to have you."
But as Jean began to thank her, Catherine's manner changed.
"Matter of business and—general comfort," she said in her short, snappy way. "Such a lot of people wouldn't fit."
"Then I'm a candidate for the vacancy?"
"We'll notify you formally but I guess, if you want to, you can be one of The Theses?"
"The Theses?"
"As against the rest of the world, The Theses. Gerte's distinction."