Joy had been hoping for those words, but now that they had come, she was incoherent with relief. “I—why——” she stammered. Packy intervened while she hesitated.
“You’ve got your nerve, Grant—I’ll hand it to you. But I brought Joy down here—dost follow the trend of my remarks?”
Grant paid no attention to him. “So that’s your name—Joy? It—fits you.”
“Let’s discuss names for awhile,” said Packy acidly. “We’ve nothing to do but ease back to Boston, and it’s only one-fifteen.”
“You have to go back to Boston at this hour?” cried Grant, incredulous.
“Certainly. Why not?” Joy was a little amused, thinking of the hours Jerry and Sarah accepted as a matter of course.
He towered over her, acute distress in every line of his face.
“Come on,” said Packy. “It’s only an hour’s run, Grant—less, at this time of night.”
He followed them to the automobile, still objecting to their ride. Joy got in the car and held out her hand. “Good-bye,” she said softly. He took her hand, forgetting to release it as he whispered: “Tell me your telephone number—quick!”
Packy was going around to get in at the other side, and in a heartbeat she had whispered the number. When Packy was installed, they had every appearance of finishing a casual leavetaking.