Pell sniffed obviously.  “In what fool paper did you read that?”

“I didn’t read it,” said Leonore, her eyes dancing with delight.  “The papers are always behind the times.  But I didn’t think that you would be, since you are to be named in the resolution.”

Pell looked at her blankly.  “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you know that the Convention will pass a resolution, naming you for next senator?” said Leonore, with both wonder and pity in her face and voice.

“Who told you that?” said Pell, with an amount of interest blended with doubt that was a decided contrast to a moment ago.

“That’s telling,” said Leonore.  “You know, Mr. Pell, that one mustn’t tell people who are outside the party councils everything.”

“I believe you are trying to stuff me,” said Pell, “If it is so, or anything like it, you wouldn’t know.”

“Oh,” said Leonore, tantalizingly, “I could tell you a great deal more than that.  But of course you don’t care to talk politics with a girl.”

Pell weakened.  “Tell me who told you about it?”

“I think we must go home to lunch,” said Leonore, turning to Peter, who had enjoyed Leonore’s triumph almost as much as she had.

“Peter,” said Pell, “have you heard what Miss D’Alloi has been saying?”

“Part of it.”

“Where can she have picked it up?

“I met Miss D’Alloi at a lunch at the White House, last June,” said Peter seriously, “and she, and the President, and I, talked politics.  Politically, Miss D’Alloi is rather a knowing person.  I hope you haven’t been saying anything indiscreet, Miss D’Alloi?”

“I’m afraid I have,” laughed Leonore, triumphantly, adding, “but I won’t tell anything more.”

Pell looked after them as they went towards the carriage.  “How extraordinary!” he said.  “She couldn’t have it from Peter.  He tells nothing.  Where the deuce did she get it, and is it so?” Then he said:  “Senator Van Brunt Pell,” with a roll on all the r’s.  “That sounds well.  I wonder if there’s anything in it?”

“I think,” said Leonore to Peter, triumphantly “that he would like to have talked politics.  But he’ll get nothing but torture from me if he tries.”

It began to dawn on Peter that Leonore did not, despite her frank manner, mean all she said.  He turned to her, and asked: 

“Are you really in earnest in saying that you’ll refuse every man who asks you to marry him within five years?”

Leonore’s triumph scattered to the four winds.  “What an awfully impudent question,” she thought, “after my saying it so often.  What shall I answer?” She looked Peter in the eye with severity.  “I shan’t refuse,” she said, “because I shan’t even let him speak.  If any man dares to attempt it, I’ll tell him frankly I don’t care to listen.”

“She really means it,” sighed Peter internally.  “Why is it, that the best girls don’t care to marry?” Peter became very cross, and, what is worse, looked it.