"Speaking of contentment," said Peter, breaking the little silence which had followed upon his last words, "don’t you think it follows rather naturally upon feeling that you are accomplishing something worth the doing? It does n’t make so much difference what it is; the point is, that you ’re doing it. If it costs effort, so much the better." "It depends on what you think is worth the doing," said Olive. "You and I would be apt to differ on that--as Shirley and I do." "Not much question of that," admitted Peter, smiling. He gave her one of his clear-sighted glances, under which she shrank a little though she did not show it. It made her say, rather defiantly: "Of course you think, as you always did, that I ’m the most useless creature living, and that my ideals are about as insignificant as the amount of actual work I do." Their eyes met, hers black and sparkling, his gray and steady and cool. He studied her for an instant, with a quality in his intent scrutiny before which her eyes went down. She was used to admiration in men’s observation of her, and though that element could hardly be lacking in Peter’s, since he was human, and she a more than ordinarily charming young woman, there was also in his regard that appearance of taking her measure, which, quite unconsciously, he could never help exercising when brought into contact with men or women. But his words, when they came, were gentle. "If you don’t mind my saying so, I think you ’re capable of things so well worth while that your life might be a wonderful thing to you. You could, if you cared to, do what you pleased with almost anybody. You have the art, the magnetism--whatever it may be--of the born leader. The only trouble is--you don’t much mind--do you?--which way you lead." This from Peter Bell! For a minute Olive was left speechless. Yet it was impossible to resent his frank putting of the case, for it conveyed something which gave her a distinct pleasure. "I ’m not sure whether I ought to be angry with you or not," she said, after a minute. "Please don’t be." "When did you take up the profession of preacher?" "To the queen?" suggested Peter, with an odd smile. "But you ’re at liberty to order my head off at any minute, you know. Or to preach back--which would be worse." In spite of this passage-at-arms, they were both laughing when the others came up with the announcement that it was time to go back to the house. But Peter’s keen speech sank in; Olive did not forget it soon. And somehow, she was more than ever sure that Peter himself was well worth cultivating.