"You know Mr. Drewitt?" asked Peter.

"Yes," said all but madame.

"Do you take pleasure in knowing him?"

"Of course," said Watts. "He's very amusing and a regular parlor pet."

"That is the reason I took him. For ten years that man was notoriously one of the worst influences in New York State politics. At Albany, in the interest of a great corporation, he was responsible for every job and bit of lobbying done in its behalf. I don't mean to say that he really bribed men himself, for he had lieutenants for the actual dirty work, but every dollar spent pa.s.sed through his hands, and he knew for what purpose it was used. At the end of that time, so well had he done his work, that he was made president of the corporation. Because of that position, and because he is clever, New York society swallowed him and has ever since delighted to fete him. I find it no harder to shake hands and a.s.sociate with the men he bribed, than you do to shake hands and a.s.sociate with the man who gave the bribe."

"Even supposing the great breweries, and railroads, and other interests to be chiefly responsible for bribery, that makes it all the more necessary to elect men above the possibility of being bribed," said Le Grand. "Why not do as they do in Parliament? Elect only men of such high character and wealth, that money has no temptation for them."

"The rich man is no better than the poor man, except that in place of being bribed by other men's money, he allows his own money to bribe him.

Look at the course of the House of Lords on the corn-laws. The slave-holders' course on secession. The millionaire silver senators'

course on silver. The one was willing to make every poor man in England pay a half more for his bread than need be, in order that land might rent for higher prices. The slave-owner was willing to destroy his own country, rather than see justice done. The last are willing to force a great commercial panic, ruining hundreds and throwing thousands out of employment, if they can only get a few cents more per ounce for their silver. Were they voting honestly in the interest of their fellow-men?

Or were their votes bribed?"

Mrs. D'Alloi rose, saying, "Peter. We came early and we must go early.

I'm afraid we've disgraced ourselves both ways."

Peter went down with them to their carriage. He said to Leonore in the descent, "I'm afraid the politics were rather dull to you. I lectured because I wanted to make some things clear to you."

"Why?" questioned Leonore.

"Because, in the next few months you'll see a great deal about bosses in the papers, and I don't want you to think so badly of us as many do."

"I shan't think badly of you, Peter," said Leonore, in the nicest tone.

"Thank you," said Peter. "And if you see things said of me that trouble you, will you ask me about them?"

"Yes. But I thought you wouldn't talk politics?"

"I will talk with you, because, you know, friends must tell each other everything."

When Leonore had settled back in the carriage for the long drive, she cogitated: "Mr. Le Grand said that he and Miss De Voe, and Mr. Ogden had all tried to get Peter to talk about politics, but that he never would.

Yet, he's known them for years, and is great friends with them. It's very puzzling!"

Probably Leonore was thinking of American politics.

CHAPTER XLVII.

THE BLUE-PETER.

Leonore's puzzle went on increasing in complexity, but there is a limit to all intricacy, and after a time Leonore began to get an inkling of the secret. She first noticed that Peter seemed to spend an undue amount of time with her. He not merely turned up in the Park daily, but they were constantly meeting elsewhere. Leonore went to a gallery. There was Peter! She went to a concert. Ditto, Peter! She visited the flower-show.

So did Peter! She came out of church. Behold Peter! In each case with nothing better to do than to see her home. At first Leonore merely thought these meetings were coincidences, but their frequency soon ended this theory, and then Leonore noticed that Peter had a habit of questioning her about her plans beforehand, and of evidently shaping his accordingly.

Nor was this all. Peter seemed to be constantly trying to get her to spend time with him. Though the real summer was fast coming, he had another dinner. He had a box at the theatre. He borrowed a drag from Mr.

Pell, and took them all up for a lunch at Mrs. Costell's in Westchester.

Then nothing would do but to have another drive, ending in a dinner at the Country Club.

Flowers, too, seemed as frequent as their meetings. Peter had always smiled inwardly at bribing a girl's love with flowers and bon-bons, but he had now discovered that flowers are just the thing to send a girl, if you love her, and that there is no bribing about it. So none could be too beautiful and costly for his purse. Then Leonore wanted a dog--a mastiff. The legal practice of the great firm and the politics of the city nearly stopped till the finest of its kind had been obtained for her.

Another incriminating fact came to her through Dorothy.

"I had a great surprise to-day," she told Leonore. "One that fills me with delight, and that will please you."

"What is that?"

"Peter asked me at dinner, if we weren't to have Anneke's house at Newport for the summer, and when I said 'yes,' he told me that if I would save a room for him, he would come down Friday nights and stay over Sunday, right through the summer. He has been a simply impossible man hitherto to entice into a visit. Ray and I felt like giving three cheers."

"He seemed glad enough to be invited to visit Grey-Court," thought Leonore.

But even without all this, Peter carried the answer to the puzzle about with him in his own person. Leonore could not but feel the difference in the way he treated, and talked, and looked at her, as compared to all about her. It is true he was no more demonstrative, than with others; his face held its quiet, pa.s.sive look, and he spoke in much the usual, quiet, even tone of voice. Yet Leonore was at first dimly conscious, and later certain, that there was a shade of eagerness in his manner, a tenderness in his voice, and a look in his eye, when he was with her, that was there in the presence of no one else.

So Leonore ceased to puzzle over the problem at a given point, having found the answer. But the solving did not bring her much apparent pleasure.

"Oh, dear!" she remarked to herself. "I thought we were going to be such good friends! That we could tell each other everything. And now he's gone and spoiled it. Probably, too, he'll be bothering me later, and then he'll be disappointed, and cross, and we shan't be good friends any more. Oh, dear! Why do men have to behave so? Why can't they just be friends?"

It is a question which many women have asked. The query indicates a degree of modesty which should make the average masculine blush at his own self-love. The best answer to the problem we can recommend to the average woman is a careful and long study of a mirror.

As a result of this cogitation Leonore decided that she would nip Peter's troublesomeness in the bud, that she would put up a sign, "Trespa.s.sing forbidden;" by which he might take warning. Many women have done the same thing to would-be lovers, and have saved the lovers much trouble and needless expense. But Leonore, after planning out a dialogue in her room, rather messed it when she came to put it into actual public performance. Few girls of eighteen are cool over a love-affair. And so it occurred thusly:

Leonore said to Peter one day, when he had dropped in for a cup of afternoon tea after his ride with her:

"If I ask you a question, I wonder if you will tell me what you think, without misunderstanding why I tell you something?"

"I will try."

"Well," said Leonore, "there is a very nice Englishman whom I knew in London, who has followed me over here, and is troubling me. He's dreadfully poor, and papa says he thinks he is after my money. Do you think that can be so?"

So far the public performance could not have gone better if it had been rehea.r.s.ed. But at this point, the whole programme went to pieces.

Peter's cup of tea fell to the floor with a crash, and he was leaning back in his chair, with a look of suffering on his face.

"Peter," cried Leonore, "what is it?"

"Excuse me," said Peter, rallying a little. "Ever since an operation on my eyes they sometimes misbehave themselves. It's neuralgia of the optic nerve. Sometimes it pains me badly. Don't mind me. It will be all right in a minute if I'm quiet."

"Can't I do anything?"

"No. I have an eye-wash which I used to carry with me, but it is so long since I have had a return of my trouble that I have stopped carrying it."

"What causes it?"

"Usually a shock. It's purely nervous."

"But there was no shock now, was there?" said Leonore, feeling so guilty that she felt it necessary to pretend innocence.