The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him Part 70

Peter pulled himself together instantly and, leaning over, began deliberately to gather up the fragments of the cup. Then he laid the pieces on the tea-table and said: "I was dreadfully frightened when I felt the cup slipping. It was very stupid in me. Will you try to forgive me for breaking one of your pretty set?"

"That's nothing," said Leonore. To herself that young lady remarked, "Oh, dear! It's much worse than I thought. I shan't dare say it to him, after all"

But she did, for Peter helped her, by going back to her original question, saying bravely: "I don't know enough about Mr. Max ---- the Englishman, to speak of him, but I think I would not suspect men of that, even if they are poor."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be much easier, to most men, to love you than to love your money."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"I'm so glad. I felt so worried over it. Not about this case, for I don't care for him, a bit. But I wondered if I had to suspect every man who came near me."

Peter's eyes ceased to burn, and his second cup of tea, which a moment before was well-nigh choking him, suddenly became nectar for the G.o.ds.

Then at last Leonore made the remark towards which she had been working.

At twenty-five Leonore would have been able to say it without so dangerous a preamble.

"I don't want to be bothered by men, and wish they would let me alone,"

she said. "I haven't the slightest intention of marrying for at least five years, and shall say no to whomever asks me before then,"'

Five years! Peter sipped his tea quietly, but with a hopeless feeling.

He would like to claim that bit of womanhood as his own that moment, and she could talk of five years! It was the clearest possible indication to Peter that Leonore was heart-whole. "No one, who is in love," he thought, "could possibly talk of five years, or five months even." When Peter got back to his chambers that afternoon, he was as near being despairing as he had been since--since--a long time ago. Even the obvious fact, that, if Leonore was not in love with him, she was also not in love with any one else, did not cheer him. There is a flag in the navy known as the Blue-Peter. That evening, Peter could have supplied our whole marine, with considerable bunting to spare.

But even worse was in store for him on the morrow. When he joined Leonore in the Park that day, she proved to him that woman has as much absolute brutality as the lowest of prize-fighters. Women get the reputation of being less brutal, because of their dread of blood-letting. Yet when it comes to torturing the opposite s.e.x in its feelings, they are brutes compared with their sufferers.

"Do you know," said Leonore, "that this is almost our last ride together?"

"Don't jerk the reins needlessly, Peter," said Mutineer, crossly.

"I hope not," said Peter.

"We have changed our plans. Instead of going to Newport next week, I have at last persuaded papa to travel a little, so that I can see something of my own country, and not be so shamefully ignorant. We are going to Was.h.i.+ngton on Sat.u.r.day, and from there to California, and then through the Yellowstone, and back by Niagara. We shan't be in Newport till the middle of August"

Peter did not die at once. He caught at a life-preserver of a most delightful description. "That will be a very enjoyable trip," he said.

"I should like to go myself."

"There is no one I would rather have than you," said Leonore, laying her little hand softly on the wound she had herself just made, in a way which women have. Then she stabbed again. "But we think it pleasanter to have it just a party of four."

"How long shall you be in Was.h.i.+ngton?" asked Peter, catching wildly at a straw this time.

"For a week. Why?"

"The President has been wanting to see me, and I thought I might run down next week,"

'"Dear me," thought Leonore. "How very persistent he is!"

"Where will you put up?" said Peter.

"We haven't decided. Where shall you stay?" she had the brutality to ask.

"The President wants me with him, but I may go to a hotel. It leaves one so much freer." Peter was a lawyer, and saw no need of committing himself. "If I am there when you are, I can perhaps help you enjoy yourself. I think I can get you a lunch at the White House, and, as I know most of the officials, I have an open sesame to some other nice things." Poor Peter! He was trying to tempt Leonore to tolerate his company by offering attractions in connection therewith. A chromo with the pound of tea. And this from the man who had thought flowers and bon-bons bribery!

"Why does the President want to see you?"

"To talk politics."

"About the governors.h.i.+p?"

"Yes. Though we don't say so."

"Is it true, Peter, that you can decide who it is to be as the papers say?"

"No, I would give twenty-five thousand dollars to-day if I could name the Democratic nominee."

"Why?"

"Would you mind my not telling you?"

"Yes. I want to know. And you are to tell me," said her majesty, calmly.

"I will tell you, though it is a secret, if you will tell me a secret of yours which I want to know."

"No," said Leonore. "I don't think that's necessary. You are to tell me without making me promise anything." Leonore might deprecate a man's falling in love with her, but she had no objection to the power and perquisites it involved.

"Then I shan't tell you," said Peter, making a tremendous rally.

Leonore looked out from under her lashes to see just how much of Peter's sudden firmness was real and how much pretence. Then she became unconscious of his presence.

Peter said something.

Silence.

Peter said something else.

Silence.

"Are you really so anxious to know?" he asked, surrendering without terms.

He had a glorious look at those glorious eyes. "Yes," said the dearest of all mouths.

"The great panic," said Peter, "has led to the formation of a so-called Labor party, and, from present indications, they are going to nominate a bad man. Now, there is a great attempt on foot to get the Democratic convention to endorse whomever the Labor party nominates."

"Who will that be?'"

"A Stephen Maguire."