As Harold hustled along the lobby his heart was approximately light for the first time that evening. Peggy was fond of him. He had a new and, presumably, unrippable tuxedo on. He had rid himself of Grace Beach. The world was fairly all right.
But as he neared Peggy's cloakroom, he stopped and stared. Coats on their hooks were bobbing about in a strangely agitated manner. Several felt hats fell to the floor. A struggle was going on. Harold sprang quickly in the direction of the commotion as he heard a little feminine cry. It sounded like Peggy!
Rushing through the coats and canes, he came upon a sight that made the blood rush into his head. Peggy was fighting a losing battle against Dan Sheldon, who, his arms locked around her, was trying furiously to press his red face against hers. Peggy was writhing and battling with all the strength of her healthy little body, pounding his chest vainly with her small fists. With a final wrench, Dan pinned her wrists and bent her backward at the waist.
