PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
Peggy watched the waiter very intently as he poured the coffee into the tiny cups.
"Do you know what paper she is on?" she asked.
"No, I don't. She's a—well, a sort of relation; a rather distant one."
"Yes? Of course there are a good many women working on the papers," she said deprecatingly. "Does she do reporting? Or does she run a department?"
"I don't know that, either. It doesn't matter. I only wondered if you'd met her."
"Then you're not very much interested in her?"
"Not very," he answered smilingly. "Would you care if I were?"
"I'd be horribly jealous—to-night," she answered.
"Why just to-night?"
"Because to-night—is to-night."
"And to-morrow?"
She made a grimace. "To-morrow is something we don't speak of. To-morrow is work, and crowded cars and cross people and the smell of ink and headaches and—and"
"Peggy, leave it all. I want you terribly and
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