“Are you going to call on us, Mr. Stirling?” “To whom are you talking?” “To you.” “My name’s Peter.” “That depends. Are you going to call on us?” “That is my hope and wish.” Leonore unbent a little more. “If you are,” she said, “I wish you would do it soon, because mamma said to-day she thought of asking you to my birthday dinner next Tuesday, but I said you oughtn’t to be asked till you had called.” “Did you know that bribery is unlawful?” “Are you going to call?” “Of course I am.” “That’s better. When?” “What evening are you to be at home?” “To-morrow,” said Leonore, beginning to curl up the corners of her mouth. “Well,” said Peter, “I wish you had said this evening, because that’s nearer, but to-morrow isn’t so far away.” “That’s right. Now we’ll be friends again.” “I hope so.” “Are you willing to be good friends—not make believe, or half friends, but—real friends?” “Absolutely.” “Don’t you think friends should tell each other everything?” “Yes.” Peter was quite willing, even anxious, that Leonore should tell him everything. “You are quite sure?” “Yes.” “Then,” said Leonore, “tell me about the way you got that sword.” Watts laughed. “She’s been asking every one she’s met about that. Do tell her, just for my sake.” “I’ve told you already.” “Not the way I want it. I know you didn’t try to make it interesting. Some of the people remembered there was something very fine, but I haven’t found anybody yet who could really tell it to me. Please tell about it nicely, Peter.” Leonore was looking at Peter with the most pleading of looks.