"It is," replied the girl, dropping her glossy gleaming black head
against his shoulder. "And besides, it's much more satisfactory to be
held in your arms in private, instead of in the midst of a crowd, and
sitting down, instead of standing up. But I should like to dance with
you, Nick," she concluded. "We'll go dancing, then, whenever you like." "You're delightfully complaisant, Nick. But--you're puzzling." She
glanced up at him. "You're so--so reluctant. Here we've been driving an
hour, and you haven't tried to kiss me a single time, and yet I'm quite
positive you care for me." "Lord, Pat!" he muttered. "You never need doubt that." "Then what is it? Are you so spiritual and ethereal, or is my
attraction for you just sort of intellectual? Or--are you afraid?" As
he made no reply, she continued, "Or are those poems you spout about my
physical charms just--poetic license?" "They're not, and you know it!" he snapped. "You've a mirror, haven't
you? And other fellows than I have taken you around, haven't they?" "Oh, I've been taken around! That's what perplexes me about you, Nick. I'd think you were actually afraid of kissing me if it weren't--" Her
voice trailed into silence, and she stared speculatively ahead at the
ribbon of road that rolled steadily into the headlights' glare. She broke the interval of wordlessness. "What is it, Nick?" she
resumed almost pleadingly. "You've hinted at something now and then. Please--you don't have to hesitate to tell me; I'm modern enough to
forgive things past, entanglements, affairs, disgraces, or anything
like that. Don't you think I should know?" "You'd know," he said huskily, "if I could tell you." "Then there is something, Nick!" She pressed his arm against her. "Tell
me, isn't there?" "I don't know." There was the suggestion of a groan in his voice. "You don't know! I can't understand." "I can't either. Please, Pat, let's not spoil tonight; if I could tell
you, I would. Why, Pat, I love you--I'm terribly, deeply, solemnly in
love with you." "And I with you, Nick." She gazed ahead, where the road rose over the
arch of a narrow bridge. The speeding car lifted to the rise like a
zooming plane. And suddenly, squarely in the center of the road, another car, until
now concealed by the arch of the bridge, appeared almost upon them. There was a heart-stopping moment when a collision seemed inevitable,
and Pat felt the arm against her tighten convulsively into a bar of
steel. She heard her own sobbing gasp, and then, somehow, they had
slipped unscathed between the other car and the rail of the bridge. "Oh!" she gasped faintly, then with a return of breath, "That was nice,
Nick!" Beyond the bridge, the road widened once more; she felt the car
slowing, edging toward the broad shoulder of the road. "There was danger," said her companion in tones as emotionless as the
rasping of metal. "I came to save it." "Save what?" queried Pat as the car slid to a halt on the turf. "Your body." The tones were still cold, like grinding wheels. "The
beauty of your body!" He reached a thin hand toward her, suddenly seized her skirt and
snatched it above the silken roundness of her knees. "There," he
rasped. "That is what I mean." "Nick!" Pat half-screamed in appalled astonishment. "How--" She paused,
shocked into abrupt silence, for the face turned toward her was but a
remote, evil caricature of Nicholas Devine's. It leered at her out of
blood-shot eyes, as if behind the mask of Nick's face peered a red-eyed
demon. 5

A Fantasy of Fear


The satyr beside pat was leaning toward her; the arm about her was
tightening with a brutal ruthlessness, and while still staring in
fascination at the incredible eyes, she realized that another arm and
a white hand was moving relentlessly, exploratively, toward her body. It was the cold touch of this hand as it slipped over her silk-sheathed
legs that broke the chilling spell of her fascination. "Nick!" she screamed. "Nick!" She had a curious sensation of calling
him back from far distances, the while she strove with both hands and
all her strength to press him back from her. But the ruthless force of
his arms was overcoming her resistance; she saw the red eyes a hand's
breadth from her own. "Nick!" she sobbed in terror. There was a change. Abruptly, she was looking into Nick's eyes,
blood-shot, frightened, puzzled, but indubitably Nick's eyes. The
flaming orbs of the demon were no more; it was as if they had receded
into Nick's head. The arm about her body relaxed, and they were staring
at each other in a medley of consternation, amazement and unbelief. The
youth drew back, huddled in his corner of the car, and Pat, breathing
in sobs, smoothed out her rumpled apparel with a convulsive movement. "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. "That's you again," she murmured. "This other--wasn't." "Please, Pat! Don't refer to it,--not ever." "But it wasn't you, Nick. It was just the strain of that narrow escape. I don't hold it against you." "You're--Lord, Pat, I don't deserve you. But you know that I--I
myself--could never touch you except in tenderness, even in reverence. You're too dainty, too lovely, too spirited, to be hurt, or to be held
roughly, against your will. You know I feel that way about you, don't
you?" "Of course. It was nothing, Nick. Forget it." "If I can," he said somberly. He switched on the engine, backed out
upon the pavement, and turned the car toward the glow that marked
Chicago. Neither of them spoke as the machine hummed over the arching
bridge and down the slope, where, so few minutes before, the threat of
accident had thrust itself at them. "We won't see a moon tonight," said Pat in a small voice, after an
interval. "We'll never check up on Dr. Carl's astronomy." "You don't want to tonight, Pat, do you?" "I guess perhaps we'd better not," she replied. "We're both upset, and
there'll be other nights." Again they were silent. Pat felt strained, shaken; there was something
uncanny about the occurrence that puzzled her.