PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
accepted her terms with what grace he could find. But when they reached the comer he was again in revolt.
"I can't let you go this way," he said as he stood beside her on the curb. "Why, I don't even know your name, dear, nor where you live!"
"My name is Peggy," she answered with a little laugh, "Peggy-in-the-Rain; and if you don't know where I live, you know where I work. And so, if you don't hear from me Saturday, you can track me to my lair. Good night. It's been a wonderful evening, every bit of it. And you've been—very patient and—and nice with me."
"Tell me you do love me, dear," he whispered, drawing her to him in the shadow of the car.
"I do, oh, I do!" she faltered.
An instant after she tore her lips away from his with a gasp that was half a sob and fled across the street under the blue-white glare of the lights.
He watched her until she was swallowed up in the darkness of the side street, his heart pounding and his head reeling. Striving to light his cigar his trembling fingers dropped it in the street.
"Peggy," he groaned, "Peggy-in-the-Rain, what have you done to me, dear?"
