Catherine looked at her queerly. "None—I guess."
Jean finished the hooking. "There, you're gowned enough for the whole bunch." Catherine's dress was very simple and apparently made no effort to be anything but a covering. In reality it was a frame and shadow box, that softened the sharpness of Catherine's face to piquancy, made her thirty instead of forty, mischievous instead of caustic.
"You're ready, then?" Catherine spoke as if she were giving Jean a last chance to redeem the hair, drawn back in the low, tight knot.
"Been ready for hours and mapped out a whole summer waiting."
Catherine, standing near the switch, turned off the light.
"Do you mean that, too, about not going out of town all summer?"
"Yes, except, perhaps, for week-ends."
Catherine did not answer, but Jean had the feeling of something moving between them in the darkness. Then Catherine passed into the hall.
"Come on. There's Philip with the taxi."