PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
never did. But now all the courage has left me and I'm just tired and lonely. I thought then that I was denying you because it was right, that I should, morally right, I mean. Now I think it was more my pride than anything else that prompted me to it. I wasn't willing to be pointed at, dear. I don't think I'm bad; I don't want to be. But I'm a woman and I want happiness. There is so very little else that a woman gets. If she misses that she has nothing. Perhaps I'm a coward, but I can't help it, and I did try, didn't I?
Now how shall I say what I want to? But you've already seen what is in my mind, dear, haven't you? That is, if you've read this far, and, oh, I hope you have! I've tried to be happy without you, and I've failed. I've tried to do without happiness, and I've failed. I think I have a right to happiness if I am willing to pay its price. I am willing. Is it too late? Dear, if you still care—not just a little, but as much as you did—come for me or let me come to you. I make no conditions. Just love me as long as you can, dear. And please, please don't think that I am offering to sell myself. I am giving myself—if you want the gift.
Afterward he read the letter again. And a long time afterward he undressed and went to bed. But sleep stayed far away from him. Some
244
