amid a roomful of celebrating Tatians. Every minute or so Harold had to respond to congratulations. He was eager to get away, to be out of this din, to be with Peggy.
And then at last they were alone together in the Sayre living room.
"You meant what you said in your note?" Harold asked her anxiously as she sat very close to him on the divan.
"Why, yes," she teased. "I am very proud of you—just as I said."
"I don't mean that part."
"But that was all I said, wasn't it?"
"No. You said—'I love you.' Oh, Peggy, did you mean it?"
She hesitated, then nodded a vigorous affirmative. And turned her red lips to his.
"Oh-h-h, Peggy," he cried and took her in his arms.
Five minutes later he was in a condition to try speech again.
"If I've done anything worth doing—I owe it to you, Peggy," he insisted seriously.
"Oh, be yourself, Harold," she laughed.
"That's what I mean," he persisted. "You said to me, 'Be yourself.' And that's what started me on the right track."
The End
