"I'll tell you tomorrow how sublime the qualities are," called Pat as she skipped out of the door.
[4]
The Transfiguration
The car slid smoothly along a straight white road that stretched ahead into the darkness like an earth-bound Milky Way. In the dim distance before them, red as Antares, glowed the tail-light of some automobile; except for this lone evidence of humanity, reflected Pat, they might have been flashing through the cosmic depths of interstellar space, instead of following a highway in the very shadow of Chicago. The colossal city of the lake-shore was invisible behind them, and the clustering suburbs with it.
"Queer, isn't it?" said Pat, after a silence, "how contented we can be with none of the purchased amusement people crave—shows, movies, dancing, and all that."
"It doesn't seem queer to me," answered Nick. "Not when I look at you here beside me."
"Nice of you!" retorted Pat. "But it's never happened to me before." She paused, then continued, "How do you like the Doctor?"
"How does he like me? That's considerably more to the point, isn't it?"
"He thinks you're nice, but—let's see—introverted, repressed, and ill-adjusted to your environment. I think those were the points."
"Well, I liked him, in spite of your manoeuvers, and in spite of his being a doctor."