So Peter told about Dennis and Blunkers, and the “b’ys” in the saloons; about Green and his fellow delegates; about the Honorable Mr., Mrs., and Miss Gallagher, and their dinner companions. He did not satirize in the least. He merely told various incidents and conversations, in a sober, serious way; but Miss De Voe was quietly amused by much of the narrative and said to herself, “I think he has humor, but is too serious-minded to yield to it.” She must have enjoyed his talk for she would not let Peter go early, and he was still too ignorant of social usages to know how to get away, whether a woman wished or no. Finally he insisted that he must leave when the clock pointed dangerously near eleven. “Mr. Stirling,” said Miss De Voe, in a doubtful, “won’t-you-please” voice, such as few men had ever heard from her, “I want you to let me send you home? It will only take a moment to have the carriage here.” “I wouldn’t take a horse out in such weather,” said Peter, in a very settling kind of voice. “He’s obstinate,” thought Miss De Voe. “And he makes his obstinacy so dreadfully—dreadfully pronounced!” Aloud she said: “You will come again?” “If you will let me.” “Do. I am very much alone too, as perhaps you know?” Miss De Voe did not choose to say that her rooms could be filled nightly and that everywhere she was welcome. “No. I really know nothing about you, except what you have told me, and what I have seen.” Miss De Voe laughed merrily at Peter’s frankness. “I feel as if I knew all about you,” she said. “But you have asked questions,” replied Peter. Miss De Voe caught her breath again. Try as she would, she could not get accustomed to Peter. All her social experience failed to bridge the chasm opened by his speech. “What did he mean by that plain statement, spoken in such a matter-of-fact voice?” she asked herself. Of course the pause could not continue indefinitely, and she finally said: “I have lived alone ever since my father’s death. I have relatives, but prefer to stay here. I am so much more independent. I suppose I shall have to move some day. This part of the city is beginning to change so.” Miss De Voe was merely talking against time, and was not sorry when Peter shook hands, and left her alone. “He’s very different from most men,” she said to the blazing logs. “He is so uncomplimentary and outspoken! How can he succeed in politics? Still, after the conventional society man he is—he is—very refreshing. I think I must help him a little socially.” CHAPTER XXVII. A DINNER.