They left the inn early on the afternoon of that day and drove back over the road that led to Clarefield and Vernon. They were as separate as ever mentally, but they talked rather more freely, and Stacey, though he felt neither love nor friendship for the girl, felt esteem for her because she existed proudly by herself. He would not have her bruised. He would defend her in a matter-of-fact way from trouble, as one might defend a stranger from physical attack.
So: “What are you going to do,” he demanded suddenly, “when you get back to Vernon?”
“Go to my apartment,” she returned. “The one Ames took for me. Ames will come back.” She smiled faintly. “Are you concerned lest you’ve ruined my prospects?”
“Yes, of course,” he said unemotionally.
“How noble of you! Don’t worry. You haven’t.”
All at once he laughed. “I was thinking what a marvellous judge of character Ames is,” he observed. “ ‘Not warm or cold, Ethel, but friendly!’ ”
The girl turned her head and looked at him strangely, but this time without smiling.
At Clarefield they drove up to Bell’s Tavern where their adventure had begun, intending to warm themselves before going on. They sat down in the booth where Ethel had sat with Ames Price on the night of Whittaker’s dinner. Stacey reflected moodily, while they waited for the drinks he ordered, that, though nearly a week had passed since that evening, nothing whatever had happened. He had succeeded in staying away from Marian, but he wanted her as much now as he had wanted her then. Five full days of this affair with Ethel had not added a fraction to what he felt and was at the beginning of it, or taken a fraction away. If time were to be set back, the interlude wiped out, and he were to find himself sitting again with Whittaker and Minnie, looking across at Ames drunk, nothing would be changed.
But he was awakened from this reverie by the desk-clerk, who came up and touched his arm.