Leonore was very ready. Watts and Peter were ready also; had been ready during the whole of this dialogue. Watts was cross; Peter wasn't. Peter would willingly have waited an hour longer, impatient only for the moment of meeting, not to get downstairs. That is the difference between a husband and a lover.

"Peter," said Leonore, the moment they were on the stairs, "do you ever tell other girls political secrets?"

Dorothy was coming just behind, and she poked Peter in the back with her fan. Then, when Peter turned, she said with her lips as plainly as one can without speaking: "Say yes."

Peter looked surprised. Then he turned to Leonore and said, "No. You are the only person, man or woman, with whom I like to talk politics."

"Oh!" shrieked Dorothy to herself. "You great, big, foolish old stupid!

Just as I had fixed it so nicely!" What Dorothy meant is quite inscrutable. Peter had told the truth.

But, after the greetings were over, Dorothy helped Peter greatly. She said to him, "Give me your arm, Peter. There is a girl here whom I want you to meet."

"Peter's going to dance this valse with me," said Leonore. And Peter had two minutes of bliss, amateur though he was. Then Leonore said cruelly, "That's enough; you do it very badly!"

When Peter had seated her by her mother, he said: "Excuse me for a moment. I want to speak to Dorothy."

"I knew you would be philandering after the young married women. Men of your age always do," said Leonore, with an absolutely incomprehensible cruelty.

So Peter did not speak to Dorothy. He sat down by Leonore and talked, till a scoundrelly, wretched, villainous, dastardly, low-born, but very good-looking fellow carried off his treasure. Then he wended his way to Dorothy.

"Why did you tell me to say 'yes'?" he asked.

Dorothy sighed. "I thought you couldn't have understood me," she said; "but you are even worse than I supposed. Never mind, it's done now.

Peter, will you do me a great favor?"

"I should like to," said Peter.

"Miss Biddle, of Philadelphia, is here. She doesn't know many of the men, and she doesn't dance. Now, if I introduce you, won't you try to make her have a good time?"

"Certainly," said Peter, gloomily.

"And don't go and desert her, just because another man comes up. It makes a girl think you are in a hurry to get away, and Miss Biddle is very sensitive. I know you don't want to hurt her feelings." All this had been said as they crossed the room. Then: "Miss Biddle, let me introduce Mr. Stirling."

Peter sat down to his duty. "I mustn't look at Leonore," he thought, "or I shan't be attentive." So he turned his face away from the room heroically. As for Dorothy, she walked away with a smile of contentment.

"There, miss," she remarked, "we'll see if you can trample on dear old Peter!"

"Who's that girl to whom Mr. Stirling is talking?" asked Leonore of her partner.

"Ah, that's the rich Miss Biddle, of Philadelphia," replied the scoundrel, in very gentleman-like accents for one of his cla.s.s. "They say she's never been able to find a man good enough for her, and so she's keeping herself on ice till she dies, in hopes that she'll find one in heaven. She's a great catch."

"She's decidedly good-looking," said Leonore.

"Think so? Some people do. I don't. I don't like blondes."

When Leonore had progressed as far as her fourth partner, she asked: "What sort of a girl is that Miss Biddle?"

"She's really stunning," she was told. "Fellows are all wild about her.

But she has an awfully snubbing way."

"Is she clever?"

"Is she? That's the trouble. She won't have anything to do with a man unless he's clever. Look at her to-night! She got her big fish right off, and she's driven away every man who's come near her ever since.

She's the kind of a girl that, if she decides on anything, she does it."

"Who's her big fish?" said Leonore, as if she had not noticed.

"That big fellow, who is so awfully exclusive--Stirling. He doesn't think any people good enough for him but the Pells, and Miss De Voe, and the Ogdens. What they can see in him I can't imagine. I sat opposite him once at dinner, this spring, at the William Pells, and he only said three things in the whole meal. And he was sitting next that clever Miss Winthrop."

After the fifth dance, Dorothy came up to Leonore. "It's going beautifully," she said; "do you see how Peter has turned his back to the room? And I heard a man say that Miss Biddle was freezing to every man who tried to interrupt them. I must arrange some affairs this week so that they shall have chances to see each other. You will help me?"

"I'm very much engaged for this week," said Leonore.

"What a pity! Never mind; I'll get Peter. Let me see. She rides beautifully. Did Peter bring his horses?"

"One," said Leonore, with a suggestion of reluctance in stating the fact.

"I'll go and arrange it at once," said Dorothy, thinking that Peter might be getting desperate.

"Mamma," said Leonore, "how old Mrs. Rivington has grown!"

"I haven't noticed it, dear," said her mother.

Dorothy went up to the pair and said: "Peter, won't you show Miss Biddle the conservatories! You know," she explained, "they are very beautiful."

Peter rose dutifully, but with a very pa.s.sive look on his face.

"And, Peter," said Dorothy, dolefully, "will you take me in to supper? I haven't found a man who's had the grace to ask me."

"Yes."

"We'll sit at the same table," said Dorothy to Miss Biddle.

When Peter got into the carriage that evening he was very blue. "I had only one waltz," he told himself, "and did not really see anything else of her the whole evening."

"Is that Miss Biddle as clever as people say she is?" asked Mrs.

D'Alloi.

"She is a very unusual woman," said Peter, "I rarely have known a better informed one." Peter's tone of voice carried the inference that he hated unusual and informed women, and as this is the case with most men, his voice presumably reflected his true thoughts.

"I should say so," said Watts. "At our little table she said the brightest things, and told the best stories. That's a girl as is a girl.

I tried to see her afterwards, but found that Peter was taking an Italian lesson of her."

"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. D'Alloi.

"I have a chap who breakfasts with me three times a week, to talk Italian, which I am trying to learn," said Peter, "and Dorothy told Mrs.

Biddle, so she offered to talk in it. She has a beautiful accent and it was very good of her to offer, for I knew very little as yet, and don't think she could have enjoyed it."

"What do you want with Italian?" asked Mrs. D'Alloi.