"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.