PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
millennium will be here. I confess I haven't her faith in the—the goodness of humanity. Here's our place. I hope you will like it, dear."
An avenue of young maples wound off from the broad road, and at the end of it lights twinkled welcomingly. Gordon turned the car in and ran in silence over the crunching gravel. At the entrance, where two liveried attendants hurried down the steps, Peggy laid a hand on Gordon's arm.
"I'd like," she said, "to forget now for the rest of the evening. Don't you think we could?"
"I can't forget that I love you, Peggy-in-the-Rain, and want you terribly. But I'll try not to say so if you like."
"Please. I want to—to forget all the problems if I can. I want to just—just be happy for a while."
His hand closed over her hand on his arm. "I believe, dear," he whispered in a voice that was not quite steady, "I believe you are making me love you so much that I'm getting to care more for your happiness than my own. Can love be as unselfish as that, really?"
"I don't know," she faltered, "but—I'm afraid so!"
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