"Dozens, Boy, dozens."
Herrick refused to continue the conversation and, with a remark that included Jean, entered the discussion going on at the end of the table. While she tried to catch the drift of the talk, Jean felt The Kitten's eyes on her and knew that the woman saw her effort to pretend unconsciousness of them. This lasted only a few moments, for, with an elaborate yawn, The Kitten left the table. No one made any comment on her going and Vicky was lost in assumed jealousy of the dumpy woman who was flirting clumsily with Flop.
The argument was a technical one and soon beyond Jean's depth, for she knew nothing at all of painting or artists. But from time to time Herrick appealed to her on a point about which the rankest layman would have an opinion, so that Jean felt in him a keener social sense and greater natural kindliness than any of the others seemed to possess.
When the argument became too intricate for even Herrick to include her, she leaned back, now much more at ease, and sensing a faint, possible charm, which had at first been quite lost under the gaucherie of manner.
The Outlanders, as The Bunch called the rest of the world, had thinned a little, but there were still many tables filled with starers toward the big table in the center. It was evidently the attraction of this rather dirty restaurant, and Jean judged that the proprietor would rather feed The Bunch for nothing than have them transfer their patronage. And for this freedom, this effortful emancipation from the social code that passed as originality and genius, he charged The Outlanders high. This too they appreciated. It gave value to the thing they bought.
"After all," Jean decided, "I suppose I do look like a baby let out alone without its nurse. I've never met any people worth while knowing in my life, or any one out of the beaten track. And because these tie their neckties across instead of down and make a lot of noise, I feel superior. I've certainly never painted a picture or written a poem and I didn't know there was anything the matter with Maeterlinck at all. Jean Norris, you're a cocky fool."
She was recalled from this philosophizing by Herrick's touch upon her shoulder.
"Dreaming again?" His voice was wistful, not this time as if he wished to share her dreams, but as if he envied her the power to dream. Jean thought that his eyes were very tired and his face rather pale, as she looked up. "Well?" he smiled down at her. "Were you really so far away? Come back, won't you, please?"
It was a sincere request, and as Jean followed to the street, she felt that Herrick was often alone among these people and she thought she understood now why he had not tried to do the novel.
On the sidewalk Flop stood in the center of the group debating what to do with the rest of the night. When Herrick and Jean joined, Flop turned to her with his manner of having just been struck by an illuminating thought.