remembering her argument with Gregg, she leaned forward toward the car and asked Gregg directly, "You'll take me to father?"
"Yes," Gregg said; and she got in beside him; Billy pushed in next her and closed the door.
"I suppose it was an automobile accident," Marjorie said a few minutes after they had started.
"Yes," said Billy. "The roads are all ice tonight."
"Maybe," Gregg objected. "But likely enough a hold-up, I'm afraid. They're at it every night in the city; and your father's not a man just to put his hands up."
"No," said Marjorie with pitiful pride, shuddering.
Billy put his arms about her; he was instantly angry at Gregg for describing a more serious event when she might have been satisfied with imagining some minor injury from a skidding car.
Gregg suggested nothing more; he had felt that this was a good moment to prepare Marjorie to innocently explain to herself the sort of injury to her father which he expected they would find; but he did not dare go beyond that.
Marjorie soon relaxed and let herself lie against Billy and she tried not to think and fear; she needed the feeling of strength and protection about her—Gregg knew—since that voice over the telephone had told her that the strength and love, which had guarded her all her life, was in danger of slipping away. Gregg ached to offer her his strength; he gripped, tense and tight, to the steering wheel to keep his hands from her; he dared not even touch her now that Billy had his arm about her; Gregg feared, if he did anything at all, he would thrust Bill from her and take her for himself.
