“Ho, ho,” laughed Watts.  “You wily old fox!  See the four bare walls.  The one shelf of law books.  The one cheap cabinet of drawers.  The four simple chairs, and the plain desk.  Behold the great politician!  The man of the people.”

Peter made no reply.  But Leonore said to him, “I’m glad you help the poor people still, Mr. Stirling,” and gave Peter another glimpse of those eyes.  Peter didn’t mind after that.

“Look here, Dot,” said Watts.  “You mustn’t call chum Mr. Stirling.  That won’t do.  Call him—­um—­call him Uncle Peter.”

“I won’t,” said Leonore, delighting Peter thereby.  “Let me see.  What shall I call you?” she asked of Peter.

“Honey,” laughed Watts.

“What shall I call you?” Miss D’Alloi put her head on one side, and looked at Peter out of the corners of her eyes.

“You must decide that, Miss D’Alloi.”

“I suppose I must.  I—­think—­I—­shall—­call—­you—­Peter.”  She spoke hesitatingly till she said his name, but that went very smoothly.  Peter on the spot fell in love with the five letters as she pronounced them.

“Plain Peter?” inquired Watts.

“Now what will you call me?”

“Miss D’Alloi,” said Peter.

“No.  You—­are—­to—­call—­me—­call—­me—­”

“Miss D’Alloi,” re-affirmed Peter.

“Then I will call you Mr. Stirling, Peter.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you said you’d call me Peter.”

“But not if you won’t—­”

“You made no condition at the time of promise.  Shall I show you the law?”

“No.  And I shall not call you Peter, any more, Peter.”

“Then I shall prosecute you.”

“But I should win the case, for I should hire a friend of mine to defend me.  A man named Peter.”  Leonore sat down in Peter’s chair.  “I’m going to write him at once about it.”  She took one of his printed letter sheets and his pen, and, putting the tip of the holder to her lips (Peter has that pen still), thought for a moment.  Then she wrote: 

    DEAR PETER: 

    I am threatened with a prosecution.  Will you defend me?  Address
    your reply to “Dear Leonore.”

    LEONORE D’ALLOI.

“Now” she said to Peter, “you must write me a letter in reply.  Then you can have this note.”  Leonore rose with the missive in her hand.

“I never answer letters till I’ve received them.”  Peter took hold of the slender wrist, and possessed himself of the paper.  Then he sat down at his desk and wrote on another sheet: 

    DEAR MISS D’ALLOI: 

    I will defend you faithfully and always.

    PETER STIRLING

“That isn’t what I said,” remarked Miss D’Alloi.  “But I suppose it will have to do.”

“You forget one important thing.”

“What is that?”

“My retaining fee.”

“Oh, dear,” sighed Leonore.  “My allowance is nearly gone.  Don’t you ever do work for very, very poor people, for nothing?”