A moment before Peter thought waltzing the most exquisite pleasure the world contained.  But he suddenly changed his mind, and concluded it was odious.

“Nevertheless,” he decided, “I will learn how.”

CHAPTER LI.

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.

Peter had his ride the next morning, and had a very interested listener to his account of that dinner.  The listener, speaking from vast political knowledge, told him at the end.  “You did just right.  I thoroughly approve of you.”

“That takes a great worry off my mind,” said Peter soberly.  “I was afraid, since we were to be such friends, and you wanted my help in the whirligig this winter, that you might not like my possibly having to live in Albany.”

“Can’t you live in New York?” said Leonore, looking horrified.

“No.”

“Then I don’t like it at all,” said Leonore.  “It’s no good having friends if they don’t live near one.”

“That’s what I think,” said Peter.  “I suppose I couldn’t tempt you to come and keep house for me?”

“Now I must snub him,” thought Leonore.  “No,” she said, “It will be bad enough to do that five years from now, for the man I love.”  She looked out from under her eyelashes to see if her blow had been fatal, and concluded from the glumness in Peter’s face, that she really had been too cruel.  So she added:  “But you may give me a ball, and we’ll all come up and stay a week with you.”

Peter relaxed a little, but he said dolefully, “I don’t know what I shall do.  I shall be in such need of your advice in politics and housekeeping.”

“Well,” said Leonore, “if you really find that you can’t get on without help, we’ll make it two weeks.  But you must get up toboggan parties, and other nice things.”

“I wonder what the papers will say,” thought Peter, “if a governor gives toboggan parties?”

After the late breakfast, Peter was taken down to see the tournament.  He thought he would not mind it, since he was allowed to sit next Leonore.  But he did.  First he wished that she wouldn’t pay so much attention to the score.  Then that the men who fluttered round her would have had the good taste to keep away.  It enraged Peter to see how perfectly willing she was to talk and chat about things of which he knew nothing, and how more than willing the men were.  And then she laughed at what they said!

“That’s fifteen-love, isn’t it?” Leonore asked him presently.

“He doesn’t look over fifteen,” actually growled Peter.  “I don’t know whether he’s in love or not.  I suppose he thinks he is.  Boys fifteen years old always do.”

Leonore forgot the score, even, in her surprise.  “Why,” she said, “you growl just like Betise (the mastiff).  Now I know what the papers mean when they say you roar.”

“Well,” said Peter, “it makes me cross to see a lot of boys doing nothing but hit a small ball, and a lot more looking at them and thinking that it’s worth doing.”  Which was a misstatement.  It was not that which made Peter mad.