And yet--that strange, wild face that had formed itself of Nick's fine features, and the terrible red eyes! Were they elements in a picture conjured out of her own imagination? They must be, of course. She had been frightened by that hairbreadth escape, and had seen things that didn't exist. And the rest of it--well, that might be natural enough. Still, there was something--she knew that; Nick had admitted it. Horker's words concerning Nick's father rose in her mind. Suspected of being crazy! Was that it? Was that the cause of Nick's curious reluctance where she was concerned? Was the face that had glared at her the visage of a maniac? It couldn't be. It couldn't be, she told herself fiercely. Not her fine, tender, sensitive Nick! And besides, that face, if she hadn't imagined it, had been the face, not of a lunatic, but of a devil. She shook her head, as if to deny her thoughts, and placed her hand impulsively on Nick's. "I don't care," she said. "I love you, Nick." "And I you," he murmured. "Pat, I'm sorry about spoiling this evening. I'm sorry and ashamed." "Never mind, Honey. There'll be others." "Tomorrow?" "No," she said. "Mother and I are going out to dinner. And Friday we're having company." "Really, Pat? You're not just trying to turn me off gently." "Really, Nick. Try asking me for Saturday evening and see!" "You're asked, then." "And it's a date." Then, with a return of her usual insouciance, she added. "If you're on good behavior." "I will be. I promise." "I hope so," said Pat. An inexplicable sense of foreboding had come over her; despite her self-given assurances, something unnameable troubled her. She gave a mental shrug, and deliberately relegated the unpleasant cogitations to oblivion. The car turned into Dempster Road; the lights of the teeming roadhouses, dance halls, road-side hamburger and barbecue stands flashed by. There were many cars here; there was no longer any impression of solitude now, in the overflow from the vast city in whose shadow they moved. The incessant flow of traffic gave the girl a feeling of security; these were tangible things about her, and once more the memory of that disturbing occurrence became dim and dreamlike. This was Nick beside her, gentle, intelligent, kind; had he ever been otherwise? It seemed highly unreasonable, a fantasy of fear and the hysteria of the moment. "Hungry?" asked Nick unexpectedly. "I could use a barbecue, I guess. Beef." The car veered to the graveled area before a brightly lit stand. Nick gave the order to an attendant. He chuckled as Pat, with the digestive disregard of youth attacked the greasy combination. "That's like a humming bird eating hay!" he said. "Or better, like a leprechaun eating that horse-meat they can for dogs." "You might as well discover that I don't live on honey and rose-petals," said Pat. "Not even on caviar and terrapin--at least, not exclusively. I leave the dainty palate for Mother to indulge."