“Every one of us kept one of the flowers,” he told her. “We didn’t know who dropped them to us, we could only see just the fluff of your light hair—but we carry them just for luck. They are sort of insignia of adventure—”
“I was so afraid I’d killed you,” Peggy confessed, “and I thought the only thing I could do to atone would be to go and be a Red Cross nurse, and help those that other people tried to kill.”
The young man threw back his head and laughed until the boys at the other tables looked over and grinned in sympathy.
Peggy hastily turned her attention to her soup and ate in silence.
When they had finished their hot chocolate, too, she glanced out at the uninviting storm and sighed.
“It must be miles back to Andrews,” she said. “I suppose we’d better start. The storm makes it awfully dark, doesn’t it?”
The lights had been turned on in the little tea house and in contrast to their radiant cheer and that of the dancing flames in the fireplace, the outside world with its deep gray swirl of snow flakes looked very black and chill.
“It’s not so much the storm—or not that only,—it must be five o’clock, anyway, you know.”
Peggy jumped. “Oh, no, how could it be? We won’t get home in time, then.”
“In time?”