“I’m not so sure,” Irene replied after a deliberate inspection of Grace’s face. “I wouldn’t count much on Ward giving you up. Love is a strange thing. You’ll go on loving each other and breaking your hearts about it and then some day you’ll meet and things will begin all over again. I’ve always been pretty cynical about these things, but I know love when I see it. It’s——”
“Don’t, Irene!” whispered Grace, a sob in her throat. “I can’t bear it! To think of Tommy——”
Her hand stole out and clasped Irene’s. The events of the night had made upon both an impression that never could be effaced. Aware of this, silence held them until the lights of the station flashed upon the windows.
Moore was on the platform, and they found a quiet corner of the waiting room where Irene told the story of the accident. John expressed no surprise, made no criticism; merely said that he was proud that they had thought of him. Trenton had suggested that they ask Moore to visit the newspaper offices and then go to Kemp’s house—Mrs. Kemp was still away—and notify the servants. John’s practical mind had considered every aspect of the matter after his brief talk with Craig over the telephone and he had already dispatched the coroner to the scene of the accident that there might be no delay or subsequent criticism.
“The sooner you both get home the better,” he said. “We’ll decide now that you were both with me all evening. I’ll account for my knowledge of the accident by explaining to the newspapers that Mr. Kemp’s chauffeur called me on the telephone after trying to get Judge Sanders, who’s Kemp’s lawyer and an old friend. It happens that the judge left for Washington tonight. I think that covers it all.”
It was not until Grace had crept into bed that she was able to think clearly. It was like a hideous dream that Kemp was dead—that she had seen him die. His death obscured the memory of her parting with Trenton, or blending with it, became a part of the dissolution of all things. Alone in the dark, remorse stole upon her like a nightmare. From the hour that she had met Kemp and Trenton a doom had followed her. In a few short months she had played havoc with her life. She groped back to her days at the University—happy days, they were; days of clean wholesome living and buoyant aspiration. And she never could be the same care-free girl again.
It was not till near dawn that she slept, to be wakened by her mother a little before the prompting of the alarm clock.
“Something awful’s happened, Grace. Thomas Kemp died last night, on the way home from his farm. There was an accident to his car but the paper says he died of heart disease. Mr. Trenton was with him. Your father’s terribly upset; he doesn’t know how it will affect his prospects. It’s a strange part of it that only yesterday Kemp closed a deal for the purchase of the Cummings Company. The paper says he’d gone out to the farm with Mr. Trenton to talk over the merger.”
It was necessary for Grace to hear Kemp’s death discussed in all its bearings at the breakfast table. The talk was chiefly between her mother and Ethel, Durland merely confirming or correcting, when appealed to, their statements as to items of the dead man’s history. They speculated fruitlessly as to the fate of Kemp’s business interests, and how much he was worth and whether he had left large sums to charity.
Grace read the account of the accident and the long biographical sketch of Kemp while this was in progress. Trenton and Moore had managed the thing well. Trenton’s statement as to the manner of his friend’s death bore every mark of veracity, and it was fortified by the coroner’s report and a statement from Kemp’s physician.