“Drink your high-ball first—as quickly as you can,” he said, not unkindly.
“No,” she returned, “I don’t care about it. Come! Let’s go.”
He flung money on the table and hurried the girl out. “And the message is two days old!” he muttered, wondering dully who could have told Catherine he was at Clarefield.
He drove the car to Vernon at a tremendous speed, Ethel sitting silent by his side. He spoke but once, to ask her the address of her apartment.
But when they drew up in front of it and he had helped her out, he stood with her for just a moment on the sidewalk. For all that he was feeling anxiety for his friend so strongly as almost to wipe everything else from his mind, he nevertheless—and even, somehow, because of this—felt now at last a touch of human interest in Ethel.
“If you ever need anything at all—or want to see me for any reason, call me up at my house,” he said inadequately.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “Good-bye.”
He sprang back into the car and drove swiftly to Phil’s house.
There was another car standing at the curb. “The doctor’s!” he thought, with sudden hope.
Stacey did not ring, but opened the door softly and walked into the living-room.