Part 10 (1/2)
Quin consulted his watch and his conscience at the same time.
”It's only five-thirty,” he said eagerly.
”I wonder if you'd do something for me?”
”You bet I will.”
”I want to go out to the hospital. I can get out there and back in my machine in thirty minutes. Would you be willing to go with me?”
Would he be willing? Two hours before he had sworn that no power on earth could induce him to return to those prison walls, and now he felt that nothing could keep him away. Forty minutes of bliss in that snug little runabout with Miss Bartlett, and the destination might be Hades for all he cared.
It took but a few minutes to get to the garage and into the machine, and then they were speeding out the avenue at a pace that would surely have landed them in the police station had the traffic officer been on his job.
Quin, doubled up like a jack-knife beside her, was drunk with ecstasy.
His expression when he looked at her resembled that of a particularly maudlin Airedale. Having her all to himself, with n.o.body to interfere, was an almost overwhelming joy. He longed to pour out his soul in grat.i.tude for all that she had done for him at the hospital; he burned to tell her that she was the most beautiful and holy thing that had ever come into his life; but instead he only got his foot tangled in the steering gear, and muttered something about her ”not driving a car bad for a girl”!
But Eleanor was not concerned with her companion or his silent transports. She evidently had something of importance on her mind.
”What time is the officers' mess?” she asked.
”About six. Why?”
”I want to catch Captain Phipps before he leaves the hospital.”
Quin's glowing bubble burst at the word. She _was_ Captain Phipps' girl, after all! She had simply pressed him into service in order to get a last interview with the one officer in the battalion for whom he had no respect.
The guard challenged them as they swung into the hospital area, but, seeing Quin's uniform, allowed them to enter. Past the long line of contagious wards, past the bleak two-story convalescent barracks, and up to the officers' quarters they swept.
”You are not going in yourself?” Quin protested, as she started to get out of the car.
”Why not? Haven't I been coming out here all the time?”
”Not at night--not like this.”
”Nonsense. What's the harm? I'll only be a minute?”
But Quin had already got out, and was holding the door with a large, firm hand.
”No,” he said humbly but positively; ”I'll go and bring him out here.”
The unexpected note of authority in his voice nettled her instantly.
”I shall go myself,” she insisted petulantly. ”Let me out.”
For a moment their eyes clashed in frank combat, hers angry and defiant, his adoring but determined.
”Listen here, Miss Bartlett,” he urged. ”The men wouldn't understand your coming out like this, at night, without your uniform. I told Ca.s.s I'd take care of you, and I'm going to do it.”
”You mean that you will dare to stop me from getting out of my own car?