PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
She laughed gayly. "But I forget that you don't know. Yes, my paper, I don't own it, you know; I merely work for it."
"Oh, so that's—that's what you do! You're a newspaper woman!"
"Good gracious, don't say it that way! We're not that bad, really!"
"I beg your pardon! I didn't mean"
"Don't apologize. I quite understand. Some of us are a bit—well, impossible."
"I've never met any. I merely—had an idea"
"Well, you've met one now. Please say that after this you have the utmost respect and admiration for newspaper women, Mr. Ames."
"I do say it. But—but, look here, what do you do on the paper?"
"Do? What don't I do? I report weddings, funerals, parties, teas, dog shows, prize-fights"
"Prize-fights!"
"I did once. The editor wanted a story written from the woman's point of view." She laughed reminiscently. "I fear I disappointed him, for I got terribly excited about it and quite forgot that
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