“I don’t care,” she said. “I love you, Nick.”
“And I you,” he murmured. “Pat, I’m sorry about spoiling this evening. I’m sorry and ashamed.”
“Never mind, Honey. There’ll be others.”
“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, roadside 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.
“I could use a barbecue, I guess. Beef.”
The car veered to the graveled area before a brightly lit stand. Nick gave the order to an attendant. He chuckled as Pat, with the digestive disregard of youth attacked the greasy combination.
“That’s like a humming bird eating hay!” he said. “Or better, like a leprechaun eating that horse-meat they can for dogs.”
“You might as well discover that I don’t live on honey and rose-petals,” said Pat. “Not even on caviar and terrapin—at least, not exclusively. I leave the dainty palate for Mother to indulge.”
“Which is just as well. Hamburger and barbecue are more easily budgeted.”
“Nicholas,” said the girl, tossing the paper napkin out of the car window, “is that an indirect and very evasive proposal of marriage?”
“You know it could be, if you wished it!”
“And do I?” she said, assuming a pensive air. “I wonder. Suppose we say I’ll let you know later.”
“And meanwhile?”
“Oh, meanwhile we can be sort of engaged. Just the way we’ve been.”
“You’re sweet, Pat,” he murmured, as the car edged into the line of traffic. “I don’t know just how to convey my appreciation, but it’s there!”
The buildings drew more closely together; the road was suddenly a lighted street, and then, almost without realizing it, they were before Pat’s home. Nick walked beside her to the door; he stood facing her hesitantly.
“Good night, Pat,” he said huskily. He leaned down, kissing her very gently, turned, and departed.
The girl watched him from the open doorway, following the lights of his car until they vanished down the street. Dear, sweet Nick! Then the disturbing memory of that occurrence of the evening returned; she frowned in perplexity as the thought rose. That was all of a piece with the puzzling character of him, and the curious veiled references he’d made. References to what? She didn’t know, couldn’t imagine. Nick had said he didn’t know either, which added still another quirk to the maze.
She thought of Dr. Horker’s words. With the thought, she glanced at his house, adjacent to her own home. A light gleamed in the library; he was still awake. She closed the door behind her, and darted across the narrow strip of lawn to his porch. She rang the bell.
“Good evening, Dr. Carl,” she said as the massive form of Horker appeared. She puckered her lips impudently at him as she slipped by him into the house.
VI
A Question of Science
“Not that I’m displeased at this visit, Pat,” rumbled the Doctor, seating himself in one of the great chairs by the fireplace, “but I’m curious. I thought you were dating your ideal tonight, yet here you are, back alone a little after eleven. How come?”
“Oh,” said the girl nonchalantly, dropping crosswise in the other chair, “we decided we needed our beauty sleep.”
“Then why are you here, you young imp?”
“Thought you might be lonesome.”
“I’ll bet you did! But seriously, Pat, what is it? Any trouble?”
“No-o,” she said dubiously. “No trouble. I just wanted to ask you a few hypothetical questions. About science.”
“Go to it, then, and quickly. I was ready to turn in.”
“Well,” said Pat, “about Nick’s father. He was a doctor, you said, and supposed to be cracked. Was he really?”
“Humph! That’s curious. I just looked up a brochure of his tonight in the American Medical Journal, after our conversation of this afternoon. Why do you ask that?”
“Because I’m interested, of course.”
“Well, here’s what I remember about him, Pat. He was an M.D., all right, but I see by his paper there—the one I was reading—that he was on the staff of Northern U. He did some work at the Cook County Asylum, some research work, and there was a bit of talk about his maltreating the patients. Then, on top of that, he published a paper that medical men considered crazy, and that started talk of his sanity. That’s all I know.”
“Then Nick—”
“I thought so! So it’s come to the point where you’re investigating his antecedents, eh? With an eye to marriage, or what?”
“Or what!” snapped Pat. “I was curious to know, naturally.”
“Naturally.” The Doctor gave her a keen glance from his shrewd eyes. “Did you think you detected incipient dementia in your ideal?”
“No,” said the girl thoughtfully. “Dr. Carl, is there any sort of craziness that could take an ordinarily shy person and make a
