PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
troubledly. "I thought—after to-night, dear, it was settled."
"Is it?" she questioned dreamily. "How can we tell? Yes, it does seem so now, doesn't it? But there's the morning—and other mornings." She shivered a little. "I hate them, don't you?"
"Some mornings," he answered with a laugh, "are extremely distasteful. But ours aren't going to be like that, Peggy, are they, dear?"
"I'd like it to be always like this," she said. "Just the darkness and the ragged old moon and the stars and the world slipping by and the wind in my face"
"And me, dear? Haven't I a place in it?"
"Yes," she answered, "I'm afraid so. Always."
"You dear!"
"But the morning—I'm afraid of it!"
"So shall I be in a moment," he muttered. Then, whimsically, "Let's keep away from it, Peggy. Let's go west and follow the night around the world. Shall we, dear?"
"Oh, yes!" she said eagerly, adding with a sigh: "If we only could!"
Ahead of them a broad lighting of the heavens
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