And the next morning, when Jerome came into the office, Jean stood waiting for him.
"Well, when are we going to begin the piers?"
Jerome hung up his hat and sat down at the desk. He knew that Jean had asked him something and was waiting for an answer. While he shuffled his mail, he knew that the welcoming smile in her eyes was quickly hardening to surprise. He did not care. His relation with Jean Herrick was no longer the untangled thing it had been. For eight days he had thought of scarcely anything but this annoying, self-centered woman. He had destroyed a perfectly good garden and acted like a school-boy. And there she stood wanting to know when he was going to begin the piers.
"I thought you had forgotten them," he said at length, still fumbling the mail as if Jean were detaining him from far more important matters.
"I don't see how you could have thought that."
"It didn't take such a stretch of imagination. We had the first scheduled for the day after the wedding—you may remember."
"Didn't you get my message?" She might have been speaking to a peevish child, so forced was the restraint of her patience.
"No. Did you leave one?"
"I told Minnie to tell you, but I suppose she forgot. Those up-state towns suddenly changed about waiting till fall to organize Consumers' Leagues. It took longer than I thought."
Jerome did not look up. Jean added no personal regret for the inconvenience she might have caused, but moved away toward the door.