“My dear! My dear!” she had cried. “I dream of you lying all so pale and bloody under that window-sill stone. And what I hear of your and Tom’s experiences coming over——”
“But worse has happened to me since I arrived home,” Ruth said woefully.
“No? Impossible!”
“Yes. I have had an irreparable loss,” sighed Ruth. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
But for the most part the greetings of the two parties was made up as Tom said of “Ohs and Ahs.”
“Take it from me,” the naughty Tom declared to Marchand, “two girls separated for over-night can find more to tell each other about the next morning than we could think of if we should meet at the Resurrection!”
The two Cameron cars stood in the station yard, and as the other waiting cars, taxicabs and “flivvers” departed, “the sacred odor of gasoline,” which Jennie had remarked upon, was soon dissipated.
The big touring car was expertly packed with baggage, and had a big hamper on either running-board as well. There was room remaining, however, for the ladies if they would sit there. But as Tom was to drive the big car he insisted that Ruth sit with him in the front seat for company. As for his racing car, he had turned that over to Marchand. It, too, was well laden; but at the start Jennie squeezed in beside her colonel, and the maroon speeder was at once whisperingly dubbed by the others “the honeymoon car.”
“Poor children!” said Aunt Kate in private to the two other girls. “They cannot marry until the war is over. That my brother is firm upon, although he thinks well of Colonel Henri. And who could help liking him? He is a most lovable boy.”
“‘Boy!’” repeated Ruth. “And he is one of the most famous spies France has produced in this war! And a great actor!”