d
her warm, wet face. So I kissed Peggy. And I am going on the 7.20
morning train.

It is now ten o'clock. My suit-case is packed, my ticket is bought,
but Tom has not come back, and the worst of it is he can't get back
to-night. He telephoned between courses at his dinner that he had
accepted an invitation to go home for the night with one of the men
they are dining. It seems he is a "person of importance"--there is a big
order behind the junket, and Tom has gone home with him to talk it over.
The ridiculous thing about it is that I forget where he was going. Of
course I could telephone to the hotel and find out, but men don't like
telephoning wives--at least, my man doesn't. It makes it rather hard,
going on this trip without kissing Tom good-bye. I had half made up my
mind to throw the whole thing over, but Peggy is pretty young; she has a
long life before her; there is a good deal at stake. So Tom and I kissed
by electricity, and he said that it was all right, and to go ahead, and
the other absurd thing about that is that Tom didn't ask me for my
New York address, and I forgot to tell him. We are like two asteroids
spinning through space, neither knowing the other's route or
destination. In point of fact, I shall register at "The Sphinx," that
nice ladies' hotel where mere man is never admitted.

I have always supposed that the Mrs. Chataway Aunt Elizabeth talks about
kept a boarding-house. I think Aunt Elizabeth rolls in upon her like a
spent wave between visits. I have no doubt that I shall be able to trace
Aunt Elizabeth by her weeds upon this beach. After that the rest is
easy. I must leave my address for Tom pinned up somewhere. Matilda's
mind wouldn't hold it if I stuck it through her brain with a hat-pin. I
think I will glue it to his library table, and I'll do it this minute to
make sure.... I have directed Matilda to give him chicken croquettes for
his luncheon, and I have written out the menu for every meal till I get
home. Poor Tom! He isn't used to eating alone. I wish I thought he would
mind it as much as I do.

Eleven o'clock.--I am obsessed with an idea, and I have yielded to it;
whether for good or ill, for wisdom or folly, remains to be proved. I
have telephoned Dr. Denbigh and suggested to him that he should go to
New York, too. Considered in any light but that of Peggy's welfare--But
I am not considering anything in any light but that of Peggy's welfare.
Dr. Denbigh used to have a little te