"Mais non!" says the lady vamp, shruggin' her shoulders. "They are what you call simple, yes. But they are chic, too. One considers that. Las' week come a young lady from Atlanta who in one hour takes two dozen at once, and more next day. You see!"
Peyton was beginning to see. But he wanted to be dead sure. "From Atlanta?" says he. "Not—not a—a Miss Vaughn?"
"Mais oui!" says Madame, clappin' her hands enthusiastic. "The ver' one. You know her? Yes?"
"I—I thought I did," says Peyton, sort of weak, as he starts for the door.
He calls off the picture proposition. Says he ain't quite in the mood. And all that day he seems to have something on his mind that he couldn't unload. Three or four times he seems to be just on the point of statin' it to me but never can quite get a start. And next day he's a good deal the same. He was like that when I left the office about 4 p.m. to catch an early train. I could about guess what was troublin' him.
So I wasn't much surprised, just before dinner to see Peyton appearin' at our front gate.
"I—I'm sure I don't know what you'll think of me, Torchy," he begins apologizing "but I—I just had to——"
"Too bad!" says I. "You're only four hours late. Lucy Lee left for Lenox on the 2:10."
"Gone!" says he. "But I thought——"
"Yes, she did plan to stay longer," says I, "but it was a bit slow for her here, and when she got a wire that a certain Captain Wright was to be at his sister's for a few days' furlough—Well, inside of an hour she and her maid had packed and were on their way. Oh, yes, and there goes the rest of Lucy Lee's baggage now."