CHAPTER XLVII.
THE BLUE-PETER.
Leonore's puzzle went on increasing in complexity, but there is a limitto all intricacy, and after a time Leonore began to get an inkling ofthe secret. She first noticed that Peter seemed to spend an undue amountof time with her. He not merely turned up in the Park daily, but theywere constantly meeting elsewhere. Leonore went to a gallery. There wasPeter! 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 withnothing better to do than to see her home. At first Leonore merelythought these meetings were coincidences, but their frequency soon endedthis theory, and then Leonore noticed that Peter had a habit ofquestioning her about her plans beforehand, and of evidently shaping hisaccordingly.
Nor was this all. Peter seemed to be constantly trying to get her tospend time with him. Though the real summer was fast coming, he hadanother 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 atthe Country Club.
Flowers, too, seemed as frequent as their meetings. Peter had alwayssmiled inwardly at bribing a girl's love with flowers and bon-bons, buthe had now discovered that flowers are just the thing to send a girl, ifyou love her, and that there is no bribing about it. So none could betoo beautiful and costly for his purse. Then Leonore wanted a dog--amastiff. The legal practice of the great firm and the politics of thecity nearly stopped till the finest of its kind had been obtained forher.
Another incriminating fact came to her through Dorothy.
"I had a great surprise to-day," she told Leonore. "One that fills mewith delight, and that will please you."
"What is that?"
"Peter asked me at dinner, if we weren't to have Anneke's house atNewport for the summer, and when I said 'yes,' he told me that if Iwould save a room for him, he would come down Friday nights and stayover Sunday, right through the summer. He has been a simply impossibleman hitherto to entice into a visit. Ray and I felt like giving threecheers."
"He seemed glad enough to be invited to visit Grey-Court," thoughtLeonore.
But even without all this, Peter carried the answer to the puzzle aboutwith him in his own person. Leonore could not but feel the difference inthe way he treated, and talked, and looked at her, as compared to allabout her. It is true he was no more demonstrative, than with others;his face held its quiet, passive look, and he spoke in much the usual,quiet, even tone of voice. Yet Leonore was at first dimly conscious, andlater certain, that there was a shade of eagerness in his manner, atenderness 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, havingfound the answer. But the solving did not bring her much apparentpleasure.
"Oh, dear!" she remarked to herself. "I thought we were going to be suchgood friends! That we could tell each other everything. And now he'sgone and spoiled it. Probably, too, he'll be bothering me later, andthen he'll be disappointed, and cross, and we shan't be good friends anymore. Oh, dear! Why do men have to behave so? Why can't they just befriends?"
It is a question which many women have asked. The query indicates adegree of modesty which should make the average masculine blush at hisown self-love. The best answer to the problem we can recommend to theaverage woman is a careful and long study of a mirror.
As a result of this cogitation Leonore decided that she would nipPeter's troublesomeness in the bud, that she would put up a sign,"Trespassing forbidden;" by which he might take warning. Many women havedone the same thing to would-be lovers, and have saved the lovers muchtrouble and needless expense. But Leonore, after planning out a dialoguein her room, rather messed it when she came to put it into actual publicperformance. Few girls of eighteen are cool over a love-affair. And soit occurred thusly:
Leonore said to Peter one day, when he had dropped in for a cup ofafternoon 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 inLondon, who has followed me over here, and is troubling me. He'sdreadfully poor, and papa says he thinks he is after my money. Do youthink that can be so?"
So far the public performance could not have gone better if it had beenrehearsed. 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 leaningback 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 onmy eyes they sometimes misbehave themselves. It's neuralgia of the opticnerve. Sometimes it pains me badly. Don't mind me. It will be all rightin 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 longsince I have had a return of my trouble that I have stopped carryingit."
"What causes it?"
"Usually a shock. It's purely nervous."
"But there was no shock now, was there?" said Leonore, feeling so guiltythat she felt it necessary to pretend innocence.
Peter pulled himself together instantly and, leaning over, begandeliberately to gather up the fragments of the cup. Then he laid thepieces on the tea-table and said: "I was dreadfully frightened when Ifelt the cup slipping. It was very stupid in me. Will you try to forgiveme 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 originalquestion, saying bravely: "I don't know enough about Mr. Max ---- theEnglishman, to speak of him, but I think I would not suspect men ofthat, even if they are poor."
"Why not?"
"Because it would be much easier, to most men, to love you than to loveyour money."
"You think so?"
"Yes."
"I'm so glad. I felt so worried over it. Not about this case, for Idon't care for him, a bit. But I wondered if I had to suspect every manwho came near me."
Peter's eyes ceased to burn, and his second cup of tea, which a momentbefore was well-nigh choking him, suddenly became nectar for the gods.
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 sodangerous 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 leastfive 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, andshe could talk of five years! It was the clearest possible indication toPeter that Leonore was heart-whole. "No one, who is in love," hethought, "could possibly talk of five years, or five months even." WhenPeter got back to his chambers that afternoon, he was as near beingdespairing as he had been since--since--a long time ago. Even theobvious fact, that, if Leonore was not in love with him, she was alsonot in love with any one else, did not cheer him. There is a flag in thenavy known as the Blue-Peter. That evening, Peter could have suppliedour whole marine, with considerable bunting to spare.
But even worse was in store for him on the morrow. When he joinedLeonore in the Park that day, she proved to him that woman has as muchabsolute brutality as the lowest of prize-fighters. Women get thereputation of being less brutal, because of their dread ofblood-letting. Yet when it comes to torturing the opposite sex in itsfeelings, they are brutes compared with their sufferers.
"Do you know," said Leonore, "that this is almost our last ridetogether?"
"Don't jerk the reins n
eedlessly, Peter," said Mutineer, crossly.
"I hope not," said Peter.
"We have changed our plans. Instead of going to Newport next week, Ihave at last persuaded papa to travel a little, so that I can seesomething of my own country, and not be so shamefully ignorant. We aregoing to Washington on Saturday, and from there to California, and thenthrough the Yellowstone, and back by Niagara. We shan't be in Newporttill the middle of August"
Peter did not die at once. He caught at a life-preserver of a mostdelightful 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 herlittle hand softly on the wound she had herself just made, in a waywhich women have. Then she stabbed again. "But we think it pleasanter tohave it just a party of four."
"How long shall you be in Washington?" asked Peter, catching wildly at astraw this time.
"For a week. Why?"
"The President has been wanting to see me, and I thought I might rundown 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 toask.
"The President wants me with him, but I may go to a hotel. It leaves oneso much freer." Peter was a lawyer, and saw no need of committinghimself. "If I am there when you are, I can perhaps help you enjoyyourself. I think I can get you a lunch at the White House, and, as Iknow most of the officials, I have an open sesame to some other nicethings." Poor Peter! He was trying to tempt Leonore to tolerate hiscompany by offering attractions in connection therewith. A chromo withthe pound of tea. And this from the man who had thought flowers andbon-bons bribery!
"Why does the President want to see you?"
"To talk politics."
"About the governorship?"
"Yes. Though we don't say so."
"Is it true, Peter, that you can decide who it is to be as the paperssay?"
"No, I would give twenty-five thousand dollars to-day if I could namethe 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 ofyours which I want to know."
"No," said Leonore. "I don't think that's necessary. You are to tell mewithout making me promise anything." Leonore might deprecate a man'sfalling in love with her, but she had no objection to the power andperquisites 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'ssudden firmness was real and how much pretence. Then she becameunconscious of his presence.
Peter said something.
Silence.
Peter said something else.
Silence.
"Are you really so anxious to know?" he asked, surrendering withoutterms.
He had a glorious look at those glorious eyes. "Yes," said the dearestof all mouths.
"The great panic," said Peter, "has led to the formation of a so-calledLabor party, and, from present indications, they are going to nominate abad man. Now, there is a great attempt on foot to get the Democraticconvention to endorse whomever the Labor party nominates."
"Who will that be?'"
"A Stephen Maguire."
"And you don't want him?"
"No. I have never crossed his path without finding him engaged insomething discreditable. But he's truckled himself into a kind ofpopularity and power, and, having always been 'a Democrat,' he hopes toget the party to endorse him."
"Can't you order the convention not to do it?"
Peter smiled down into the eyes. "We don't order men in this countrywith any success."
"But can't you prevent them?"
"I hope so. But it looks now as if I should have to do it in a way verydisagreeable to myself."
"How?"
"This is a great secret, you understand?"
"Yes," said Leonore, all interest and eagerness. "I can keep a secretsplendidly."
"You are sure?" asked Peter.
"Sure."
"So can I," said Peter.
Leonore perfectly bristled with indignation. "I won't be treated so,"she said. "Are you going to tell me?" She put on her severest manner.
"No," said Peter.
"He is obstinate," thought Leonore to herself. Then aloud she said:"Then I shan't be friends any more?"
"That is very nice," said Peter, soberly.
"What?" said Leonore, looking at him in surprise.
"I have come to the conclusion," said Peter, "that there is no use inour trying to be friends. So we had better give up at once. Don't youthink so?"
"What a pretty horse Miss Winthrop has?" said Leonore. And she neverobtained an answer to her question, nor answered Peter's.
The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him Page 47