Nor was Leonore much better, “There,” she said, “I knew just how it would be.  He’s getting sulky already.  He isn’t nice any more.  The best thing will be to let him speak, for then he’ll go back to New York, and won’t bother me.”  The corners of her mouth drew away down, and life became very gray.

So “the best of friends” rode home from the Casino, without so much as looking at each other, much less speaking.  Clearly Peter was right.  There was no good in trying to be friends any longer.

Precedent or habit, however, was too strong to sustain this condition long.  First Leonore had to be helped out of the carriage.  This was rather pleasant, for she had to give Peter her hand, and so life became less unworth living to Peter.  Then the footman at the door gave Peter two telegraphic envelopes of the bulkiest kind, and Leonore too began to take an interest in life again.

“What are they about?” she asked.

“The Convention.  I came off so suddenly that some details were left unarranged.”

“Read them out loud,” she said calmly, as Peter broke the first open.

Peter smiled at her, and said:  “If I do, will you give me another waltzing lesson after lunch?”

“Don’t bargain,” said Leonore, disapprovingly.

“Very well,” said Peter, putting the telegrams in his pocket, and turning towards the stairs.

Leonore let him go up to the first landing.  But as soon as she became convinced that he was really going to his room, she said, “Peter.”

Peter turned and looked down at the pretty figure at the foot of the stairs.  He came down again.  When he had reached the bottom he said, “Well?”

Leonore was half angry, and half laughing.  “You ought to want to read them to me,” she said, “since we are such friends.”

“I do,” said Peter, “And you ought to want to teach me to waltz, since we are such friends.”

“But I don’t like the spirit,” said Leonore.

Peter laughed.  “Nor I,” he said.  “Still, I’ll prove I’m the better, by reading them to you.”

“Now I will teach him,” said Leonore to herself.

Peter unfolded the many sheets.  “This is very secret, of course,” he said.

“Yes.”  Leonore looked round the hall as if she was a conspirator.  “Come to the window-seat upstairs,” she whispered, and led the way.  When they had ensconced themselves there, and drawn the curtains, she said, “Now.”

“You had better sit nearer me,” said Peter, “so that I can whisper it.”

“No,” said Leonore.  “No one can hear us.”  She thought, “I’d snub you for that, if I wasn’t afraid you wouldn’t read it.”

“You understand that you are not to repeat this to anyone.”  Peter was smiling over something.

Leonore said, “Yes,” half crossly and half eagerly.

So Peter read: 

“Use Hudson knowledge counties past not belief local twenty imbecility certified of yet till yesterday noon whose Malta could accurately it at seventeen.  Potomac give throw Haymarket estimated Moselle thirty-three to into fortify through jurist arrived down right—­”