PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
"Do I?" she sighed. "I hope so—if I must. But, don't you see, I couldn't—now—without knowing, without being sure? You won't ask me, will you? I do want to be fair, really!"
He was silent a moment. Then: "No, I won't ask you, dear. You shall be sure. I want you desperately, but I'll wait for you until you are ready to come to me, Peggy."
She nodded. "Yes," she whispered, "until I know."
"And—will it be very long, dear?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said slowly. After a moment: "When we get back there—" she nodded at the brightening sky—"you'll set me down where you got me"
"At this time of night? Never!"
"Yes, please. And then you—you'll not try to see me for—for a few days."
"How many days?" he demanded resentfully.
"Three," she answered after a moment's thought. "Then I will write to you and—tell you."
"Three days? That's absurd, impossible!"
"No, it isn't. I suppose I'd better write to a club, hadn't I?"
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