When this somewhat complicated matter was ended, he wrote about it to his mother: 

“Many such cases would bankrupt me.  As it is, my fund is dwindling faster than I like to see, though every lessening of it means a lessening of real trouble to some one.  I should like to tell Miss De Voe what good her money has done already, but fear she would not understand why I told her.  It has enabled me to do so much that otherwise I could not have afforded.  There is only one hundred and seventy-six dollars left.  Most of it though, is merely loaned and perhaps will be repaid.  Anyway, I shall have nearly six hundred dollars for my work as secretary of the Food Commission, and I shall give half of it to this fund.”

CHAPTER XXX.

A “COMEDY.”

When the season began again, Miss De Voe seriously undertook her self-imposed work of introducing Peter.  He was twice invited to dinner and was twice taken with opera parties to sit in her box, besides receiving a number of less important attentions.  Peter accepted dutifully all that she offered him.  Even ordered a new dress-suit of a tailor recommended by Lispenard.  He was asked by some of the people he met to call, probably on Miss De Voe’s suggestion, and he dutifully called.  Yet at the end of three months Miss De Voe shook her head.

“He is absolutely a gentleman, and people seem to like him.  Yet somehow—­I don’t understand it.”

“Exactly,” laughed Lispenard.  “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

“Lispenard,” angrily said Miss De Voe, “Mr. Stirling is as much better than—­”

“That’s it,” said Lispenard.  “Don’t think I’m depreciating Peter.  The trouble is that he is much too good a chap to make into a society or a lady’s man.”

“I believe you are right.  I don’t think he cares for it at all.”

“No,” said Lispenard.  “Barkis is not willin’.  I think he likes you, and simply goes to please you.”

“Do you really think that’s it?”

Lispenard laughed at the earnestness with which the question was asked.  “No,” he replied.  “I was joking.  Peter cultivates you, because he wants to know your swell friends.”

Either this conversation or Miss De Voe’s own thoughts, led to a change in her course.  Invitations to formal dinners and to the opera suddenly ceased, and instead, little family dinners, afternoons in galleries, and evenings at concerts took their place.  Sometimes Lispenard went with them, sometimes one of the Ogden girls, sometimes they went alone.  It was an unusual week when Peter’s mail did not now bring at least one little note giving him a chance to see Miss De Voe if he chose.

In February came a request for him to call.  “I want to talk with you about something,” it said.  That same evening he was shown into her drawing-rooms.  She thanked him with warmth for coming so quickly, and Peter saw that only the other visitors prevented her from showing some strong feeling.  He had stumbled in on her evening—­for at that time people still had evenings—­but knowing her wishes, he stayed till they were left alone together.