"Why so pensive, Honey?" he asked after an interval. "I've never known you so quiet before."
"I'm enjoying my happiness, Nick."
"Aren't you usually happy?"
"Of course, only these last two or three days, ever since our last date, I've been making myself miserable. I've been telling myself foolish things, impossible things, and it's only now that I've thrown off the blues. I'm happy, Dear!"
"I'm glad you are," he said. His voice was strangely husky, and he stared fixedly at the street rushing toward them. "I'm glad you are," he repeated, a curious tensity in his tones.
"So'm I."
"I'll never do anything to make you unhappy, Pat—never. Not—if I can help it."
"You can help it, Nick. You're the one making me happy; please keep doing it."
"I—hope to." There was a queer catch in his voice. It was almost as if he feared something.
"Selah!" said Pat conclusively. She was thinking, "Wrong of me to refer to that accident. After all it was harmless; just a natural burst of passion. Might happen to anyone."