No cars had passed since the accident, but as they were on a highway Trenton urged Irene and Grace to go at once.
“You mustn’t be seen here. It’s horrible enough without having you mixed up in it.”
Irene bent down and touched the quiet face, murmuring:
“It’s cruel to leave him like this! Poor boy! Poor dear Tommy!”
IV
Grace and Irene had worn hats on the tragic adventure and their long dark cloaks covered their party dresses so that their entrance into the interurban car awakened little interest in the half-dozen dozing passengers. Fortunately Grace had her purse and paid the fares. The swift rush of the car exerted a quieting effect upon them. Irene had wrenched her shoulder when the machine leaped into the ditch, but Grace had escaped with only a few scratches. They conferred in low tones, still dazed by their close contact with death.
“I ought to have insisted on going home earlier. But I did the best I could. Tommy wouldn’t budge. Tell me that I did the best I could!”
“Of course you did! We should never have gone—any of us!” said Grace. “I’m as much to blame as any one. But Tommy would have gone anyhow, you know he would.”
“Ward’s wonderful,” said Irene. “I’ll never forget him as he stood there beside Tommy as we left. Those men loved each other; and Tommy was good, Grace. I’m glad I had it out with him—about quitting I mean. He was sober then; perfectly all right. It was just before you and Ward came back that he began drinking crazily. When I told him I thought it was all wrong and that I wanted to quit he talked to me in the finest way. He said he wouldn’t let me think I could be better than he was and he was going to live straight the rest of his life. But Tommy would never have quit. There would always have been some girl; and he just had to have his parties. I suppose there’s no use worrying about that!”
“No,” Grace consoled her, “things just have to be. You can’t change anything. Ward and I said good-bye to each other tonight. So that’s all over.”