“I think we must be going,” she said.

“You mustn’t go without seeing the rest of my quarters,” said Peter, hoping to prolong the visit.

Leonore was complaisant to that extent.  So they went into the pantry, and Leonore proceeded, apparently, to show her absolute ignorance of food matters under the pretext that she was displaying great housekeeping knowledge.  She told Peter that he ought to keep his champagne on ice.  “That champagne will spoil if it isn’t kept on ice.”  She complained because some bottles of Burgundy had dust on them.  “That’s not merely untidy,” she said, “but it’s bad for the wine.  It ought to be stood on end, so that the sediment can settle.”  She criticised the fact that a brace of canvas-backs were on ice.  “All your game should be hung,” she said.  She put her finger or her eyes into every drawer and cupboard, and found nothing to praise.  She was absolutely grave over it, but before long Peter saw the joke and entered into it.  It was wonderful how good some of the things that she touched tasted later.

Then they went into Peter’s sleeping-room, Leonore said it was very ordinary, but promptly found two things to interest her.

“Do you take care of your window flowers?”

“No, Mrs. Costell comes down to lunch with me once a week, and potters with them.  She keeps all the windows full of flowers—­perhaps you have noticed them in the other rooms, as well?”

“Yes.  I liked them, but I didn’t think they could be yours.  They grow too well for a man.”

“It seems as if Mrs. Costell had only to look at a plant, and it breaks out blossoming,” Peter replied.

“What a nice speech,” said Leonore.

“It’s on a nice subject,” Peter told her.  “When you have that, it’s very easy to make a nice speech.”

“I want to meet Mrs. Costell.  I’ve heard all about her.”

The second point of interest concerned the contents of what had evidently been planned as an umbrella-stand.

“Why do you have three swords?” she asked, taking the handsomest from its resting place.

“So that I can kill more people.”

“Why, Dot, you ought to know that an officer wants a service sword and a dress-sword.”

“But these are all dress-swords.  I’m afraid you are very proud of your majorship.”

Peter only smiled a reply down at her.

“Yes,” said Leonore, “I have found out your weakness at last.  You like gold lace and fixings.”

Still Peter only smiled.

“This sword is presented to Captain Peter Stirling in recognition of his gallant conduct at Hornellsville, July 25, 1877,” Leonore read on the scabbard.  “What did you do at Hornellsville?”

“Various things.”

“But what did you do to get the sword?”

“My duty!”

“Tell me?”

“I thought you knew all about me.”

“I don’t know this.”

Peter only smiled at her.