Hubert stood watching her and wondering what he should do. If he drove Helen to Stamford there was a whole day wasted. If he went looking for a job on foot he would look broke, and that was a handicap to a fellow who wanted a good job. He decided that he might just as well drive Helen to Stamford. That way he would be sure to have the car at the end of the day.
She sat in the back and kept her eyes closed throughout the ride. Once or twice he looked at her in the mirror and thought she looked quite old. Funny hat she had on. It was black felt and cut in queer-looking wings over the ears. Her white hair looked kind of pretty peeking out at the sides. Once she opened her eyes and spoke to him. "Stop at a florist's," she said.
When he found one he stopped and Helen bought some early spring flowers and laid them beside her in the back of the car.
"Your friend up here sick?" he asked her.
It was funny to speak of Wilma Lawrence as though he didn't know her name. She had been Helen's bridesmaid at their wedding. By pretending to be completely unaware of her existence he was able to forget that she had never thought him good enough for Helen.
"She has been ill in bed for over two years now," Helen told him.
"Oh, gee, that's tough," he said.
Now he would really have to go with Helen to make the call. He really ought to do it. After all, when a person's awfully sick old scores ought to be wiped out. Gee, Helen should have told him sooner that Wilma was ill. He'd have visited her before with Helen if he
