PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
"Switzerland! Do you really mean it? Lucerne? And Interlaken? And Mont Blanc? And—and the Matterhorn?"
"We omit nothing—as long as the car holds out."
"The car?" she questioned.
"The automobile. Have you forgotten that we travel by automobile?"
She clapped her hands softly. "How stupid I am! I had forgotten, really! I hope it does hold out, don't you? Still, we could go by train."
"No, the only way to really enjoy Switzerland is by motor. Perhaps afterwards we might slip down into Italy by rail; Lake Como, for instance, must be worth seeing. I have never been there."
"I shall enjoy the mountains more," she said thoughtfully.
They were still pretending when the waiter brought the cocktails. Gordon raised his glass to her across the flowers.
"To that day, Peggy," he said gravely.
She shook her head lightly. "I'm afraid by that time automobiles will be quite out of fashion," she replied laughingly, "and we shall have to make
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