to embarrass you. I—er—just want to say that."
She was biting the thread off with bent head and even white teeth. He saw to his relief that her eyes were twinkling with merriment.
"Oh, I've forgotten that long ago," she declared. "I was confused at first because that lady was grinning at us so. But I realize how we must have sounded. It was funny, wasn't it? Imagine!"
She laughed merrily. He joined her. The ice was broken.
"You live here, don't you?" he asked hopefully.
"Why, yes," she replied. "My mother owns this house. Since father died two years ago she's been letting out this room."
He questioned her discreetly further and learned a lot. Her name was indeed Peggy Sayre. She had graduated from Tate High School the June previous and had had to give up plans to enter Wellesley College on account of the sudden death of her father. Instead she had taken a position at the Hotel Tate. She was to have charge of the cigar counter and the cloakroom. She had been visiting a relative in Indiana. Yes, she knew many students, having lived in Tate all her life. Chester Trask? She knew him. Yes, he was, probably, the most popular man in
