"Pat!" he gasped. "Oh, my God! He couldn't have—" He paused abruptly. The girl gazed at him without reply.
"Pat, Dear," he spoke in a low, tense murmur, "I'm—sorry. I don't know—I don't understand how—"
"Never mind," she said, regaining a vestige of her customary composure. "It's—all right, Nick."
"But—oh, Pat—!"
"It was that near accident," she said. "That upset you—both of us, I mean."
"Yes!" he said eagerly. "That's what it was, Pat. It must have been that, but Dear, can you forgive? Do you want to forgive me?"
"It's all right," she repeated. "After all, you just complimented my legs, and I guess I can stand that. It's happened before, only not quite so—convincingly!"
"You're sweet, Pat!"
"No; I just love you Nick." She felt a sudden pity for the misery in his face. "Kiss me, Nick—only gently."
He pressed his lips to hers, very lightly, almost timidly. She lay back against the seat for a moment, her eyes closed.