What she said was this: 

Peter came downstairs the third evening of his stay “armed and equipped as the law directs” for a cotillion.  In the large hallway, he found Leonore, likewise in gala dress, resting her hand on the tall mantel of the hall, and looking down at the fire.  Peter stopped on the landing to enjoy that pose.  He went over every detail with deliberation.  But girl, gown, and things in general, were much too tempting to make this distant glimpse over lengthy.  So he descended to get a closer view.  The pose said nothing, and Peter strolled to the fire, and did likewise.  But if he did not speak he more than made up for his silence with his eyes.

Finally the pose said, “I suppose it’s time we started?”

“Some one’s got to speak,” the pose had decided.  Evidently the pose felt uneasy under that silent gaze.

“It’s only a little past ten,” said Peter, who was quite satisfied with the status quo.

Then silence came again.  After this had held for a few moments, the pose said:  “Do say something!”

“Something,” said Peter.  “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Unless you can be more entertaining, we might as well be sitting in the Purdies’ dressing-rooms, as standing here.  Suppose we go to the library and sit with mamma and papa?” Clearly the pose felt nervous.

Peter did not like this idea.  So he said:  “I’ll try to amuse you.  Let me tell you something very interesting to me.  It’s my birthday to-morrow.”

“Oh!” said Leonore.  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?  Then I would have had a gift for you.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Don’t you want me to give you something?”

“Yes.”  Then Peter’s hands trembled, and he seemed to have hard work in adding, “I want you to give me—­a kiss.”

“Peter!” said Leonore, drawing back grieved and indignant.  “I didn’t think you would speak to me so.  Of all men!”

“You mustn’t think,” said Peter, “that I meant to pain you.”

“You have,” said Leonore, almost ready to cry.

“Because,” said Peter, “that isn’t what I meant.”  Peter obviously struggled to find words to say what he did mean as he had never struggled over the knottiest of legal points, or the hardest of wrestling matches.  “If I thought you were a girl who would kiss a man for the asking, I should not care for a kiss from you.”  Peter strayed away from the fire uneasily.  “But I know you are not.”  Peter gazed wildly round, as if the furnishings, of the hall might suggest the words for which he was blindly groping.  But they didn’t, and after one or two half-begun sentences, he continued:  “I haven’t watched you, and dreamed about you, and loved you, for all this time, without learning what you are.”  Peter roamed about the great hall restlessly.  “I know that your lips will never give what your heart doesn’t.”  Then his face took a despairing look, and he continued quite rapidly: