“Don't worry about it,” said Jack, into whose face the colour was beginning to come back. “They are sure to look us up. Just sit down, won't you please, beside me here? There, that's good,” he continued, taking her hand. “Kathleen,” he cried, “I think you know my secret.”
“Oh, no, no, please don't,” she implored, withdrawing her hand and hiding her face from him. “Please don't be hard on me. I really do not know what I am doing and I am feeling dreadfully.”
“You have reason to feel so, Kathleen. You have been splendidly brave, and I give you my word I am not going to worry you.”
“Oh, thank you; you are so good, and I love you for it,” she cried in a passion of gratitude. “You understand, don't you?”
“I think I do,” he said. “By the way, do you know I think I could smoke.”
“Oh, splendid!” she cried, and, springing up, she searched through his coat pockets, found pipe, pouch, matches, and soon he had his pipe going. “There, that looks more like living,” said Kathleen, laughing somewhat hysterically. “Oh, you did frighten me!” Again the red flush came into her face and she turned away from him.
“There they are coming. Sure enough, they are coming,” she cried with a sob in her voice.
“Steady, Kathleen,” said Jack quietly. “You won't blow up now, will you? You have been so splendid! Can you hold on?”
She drew a deep breath, stood for a minute or two in perfect silence, and then she said, “I can and I will. I am quite right now.”
Of course they exclaimed and stared and even wept a bit—at least the ladies did—but Jack's pipe helped out amazingly, and, indeed, he had recovered sufficient strength to walk unhelped to the car. And while Tom sent the Packard humming along the smooth, resilient road he kept up with Nora and his sister a rapid fire of breezy conversation till they reached their own door. It was half an hour before Tom could bring the doctor, during which time they discussed the accident in all its bearings and from every point of view.