“What?”

“If that was why you wouldn’t call at first on us?”

“No.”

“Then why did mamma say you wouldn’t call?” When Peter made no reply,
Leonore continued, “I knew—­that is I felt, there was something wrong. 
What was it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Yes,” said Leonore, very positively.

Peter hesitated.  “She thought badly of me about something, till I apologized to her.”

“And now?”

“Now she invites me to Grey-Court.”

“Then it wasn’t anything?”

“She had misjudged me.”

“Now, tell me what it was.”

“Miss D’Alloi, I know you do not mean it,” said Peter, “but you are paining me greatly.  There is nothing in my whole life so bitter to me as what you ask me to tell.”

“Oh, Peter,” said Leonore, “I beg your pardon.  I was very thoughtless!”

“And you don’t think the worse of me, because I loved your mother, and because I can’t tell you?” said Peter, in a dangerous tone.

“No,” said Leonore, but she rose.  “Now we’ll go back to the dancing.”

“One moment,” begged Peter.

But Leonore was already in the full light blazing from the room.  “Are you coming?” she said.

“May I have this waltz?” said Peter, trying to get half a loaf.

“No,” said Leonore, “it’s promised to Mr. Rutgers.”

Just then mine host came up and said.  “I congratulate you, Mr. Stirling.”

Peter wanted to kick him, but he didn’t.

“I congratulate you,” said another man.

“On what?” Peter saw no cause for congratulation, only for sorrow.

“Oh, Peter,” said Dorothy, sailing up at this junction, “how nice!  And such a surprise!”

“Why, haven’t you heard?” said mine host.

“Oh,” cried Leonore, “is it about the Convention?”

“Yes,” said a man.  “Manners is in from the club and tells us that a despatch says your name was sprung on the Convention at nine, and that you were chosen by acclamation without a single ballot being taken.  Every one’s thunderstruck.”

“Oh, no,” said a small voice, fairly bristling with importance, “I knew all about it.”

Every one laughed at this, except Dorothy.  Dorothy had a suspicion that it was true.  But she didn’t say so.  She sniffed visibly, and said, “Nonsense.  As if Peter would tell you secrets.  Come, Peter, I want to take you over and let Miss Biddle congratulate you.”

“Peter has just asked me for this waltz,” said Leonore.  “Oh, Mr. Rutgers, I’m so sorry, I’m going to dance this with Mr. Stirling.”

And then Peter felt he was to be congratulated.

“I shan’t marry him myself,” thought Leonore, “but I won’t have my friends married off right under my nose, and you can try all you want, Mrs. Rivington.”

So Peter’s guardianship was apparently bearing fruit.  Yet man to this day holds woman to be the weaker vessel!