PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
hurt me more than any one else in the world. I suppose it's those we love who can hurt us most, Peggy."
"And who do," she sighed. Then she shook her slim shoulders and laughed. "Don't let's be sad and serious," she begged. "That's so easy any time. This ice is delicious, isn't it?"
"Is it? I'm glad if it is. I've ordered coffee. You drink it?"
"Yes. And—would it be terribly dissipated to have a glass of cordial?"
"I fancy you could live it down in time. What do you like?"
"I don't know. What do you think would be nice?"
"Crème Violette to match your eyes."
"Oh! But is it good?"
"Sickening," he answered cheerfully. "Try Benedictine." He called the waiter and gave the order. Then, "There is something," he continued musingly, "that I wanted to ask you. It was while you were telling about your novel. Now I seem to have forgotten it. Oh, I know what it was. Do you by any chance know a girl named Milburn? Margaret Milburn? She is a newspaper woman, too, I believe."
150
