“I suspected before coming that Watts and Miss Pierce loved each other.  I was evidently wrong, for if they did they could not endure seeing so little of each other.  How could he know her and not love her?  But it’s very fortunate for me, for I should stand no chance against him, even supposing I should try to win the girl he loved.  She can’t care for me!  As Watts says, ‘I’m an old stupid naturally, and doubly so with girls.’  Still, I can’t go to-morrow without telling her.  I shan’t see her again till next winter.  I can’t wait till then.  Some one else—­I can’t wait.”

Then he strode up and down half a dozen times repeating the last three words over and over again.  His thoughts took a new turn.

“It’s simply folly, and you have no right to give in to it.  You have your own way to make.  You have no right to ask mother for more than the fifteen hundred she says you are to have as an allowance, for you know that if she gave you more, it would be only by scrimping herself.  What is fifteen hundred a year to such a girl?  Why, her father would think I was joking!”

Then Peter looked out on the leaden waters and wished it was not cowardly to end the conflict by letting them close over him.  The dark color made him think, however, of a pair of slate-colored eyes, so instead of jumping in, he repeated “I can’t wait” a few times, and walked with redoubled energy.  Having stimulated himself thereby, he went on thinking.

“She has been so kind to me that—­no—­she can’t care for me.  But if she—­if by chance—­if—­supposing she does!  Why, the money is nothing.  We can wait.”

Peter repeated this last remark several times, clearly showing that he made a great distinction between “I can wait” and “We can wait.”  Probably the same nice distinction has been made before, and lovers have good authority for the distinction, for many an editor’s public “We think” is the exact opposite of his private “I think.”  Then Peter continued: 

“Of course I shall have difficulty with Mr. Pierce.  He’s a worldly man.  That’s nothing, though, if she cares for me.  If she cares for me?”

Peter repeated this last sentence a number of times and seemed to enjoy the prospect it conjured up.  He saw Peter Stirling taking a fond farewell of a certain lady.  He saw him entering the arena and struggling with the wild beasts, and of course conquering them.  He saw the day when his successes would enable him to set up his own fireside.  He saw that fireside made perfect by a pair of slate-colored eyes, which breakfast opposite him, follow him as he starts for his work, and greet him on his return.  A pair of eyes to love when present, and think of when absent.  Heigho!  How many firesides and homes have been built out of just such materials!

From all this the fact can be gathered that Peter was really, despite his calm, sober nature, no more sensible in love matters than are other boys verging on twenty-one.  He could not see that success in this love would be his greatest misfortune.  That he could not but be distracted from his work.  That he would almost certainly marry before he could well afford it, and thus overweight himself in his battle for success.  He forgot prudence and common-sense, and that being what a lover usually does, he can hardly be blamed for it.