PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
"Not a bit. I'm glad we've had this talk. It's cleared things up a bit for me, Gordon. I've been thinking rather hard things of you. I'm glad to know that—you really cared for her. If I ever learn anything about her—and I shall sooner or later, I'm sure—I'll tell you what I can—if you still want to know."
"Thanks. I shall—always."
"Well—" She watched the approaching launch, its smokestack aglitter in the lengthening rays of the sun. "Try to forget some of the things I've said, Gordon," she went on. "I'm afraid they have been things an unmarried woman is supposed not to even think of. And—and don't think because I spouted of the ideal lover that Peter deserves your pity. He doesn't. Peter will get more than many men get when they take unto themselves a wife."
"I'm not pitying him, Leona," Gordon replied. They both had arisen and walked to the rail. "I think I'm envying him." He took her hand. "And I think I was a fool, Leona, once."
"Only once?" she asked with her slow smile.
"If it were anybody but old Peter, I'd try again," he said warmly.
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