"Doris, you are dreaming," cried Rosalie. "Whoever heard of such a thing? If you are intimate, he can't be a stranger. If you are intimate, you've got to know each other."
"Oh, not necessarily. Not by any means."
"Well, for my part, I prefer people I know and like—people who sit down in the big chair and read the paper and act human."
Doris laughed gleefully. "I don't," she said. "For once you are more sensible than I am. I like perfect strangers that I do not know a thing about—but can tell from their eyes that they are good—I like people who just flit around, and come and go—like wizards."
CHAPTER IX THE RUNAWAYS
Treasure and Zee were in the garage, studying history in the roomy back seat of the red car.
"Father is very pettish about some things," said Zee, suddenly banging the covers of the history together. "Why in the world does he always say we are too young to drive? He taught Doris, and she grips the wheel like mad—a very unprofessional thing to do, everybody says so. And he taught Rosalie, and she goes tearing along, smiling here and nodding there, and nearly runs over dogs and wagons and— But he says we are too young, though you are very cautious, and I am smart for my age. I know perfectly well how she goes."
They dropped their books on the floor and clambered over into the front seat, Zee at the wheel.