PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
asked. "You threw away your cigar unfinished, didn't you?"
"Would you mind if I did? You're sure?"
He stopped the car in a stretch of meadow-bordered road. Afar off a dog was barking. Amongst the bushes the early crickets were shrilling. At times she thought she could hear the soft swish of the waves on some distant beach. Gordon lighted his cigar. The orange glare of the match illumining his well-featured face. He tossed the match to the road and turned toward her with a smile.
"Well?" he said.
"Well?" she smiled back. Somehow the creases seemed to have been smoothed out by that swift, silent flight, all the problems left behind. She felt passively contented and restful.
"Are you very tired?" he asked, a tender droop in his voice.
"No, not now. Riding has rested me. Only—I may go to sleep any moment."
He rested a hand on hers. Almost unconsciously hers snuggled into it.
"Do," he answered. "You'll be all right. Lean against my shoulder and I'll drive slowly."
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