Dorothy laughed. “Here we four women—Mrs. Grinnell, and Mrs. Winthrop and Leonore and myself—have been quarrelling over you, and each insisting you are something different. I believe you are not a bit firm and stable, as people say you are, but a perfect chameleon, changing your tint according to the color of the tree you are on. Leonore was the worst, though! She says that you talk and joke a great deal. We could have stood anything but that!” “I am sorry my conversation and humor are held in such low estimation.” “There,” said Leonore, “See. Didn’t I tell you he joked? And, Peter, do you dislike women?” “Unquestionably,” said Peter. “Please tell me. I told them of your speech about the sunshine, and Mrs. Winthrop says that she knows you didn’t mean it. That you are a woman-hater and despise all women, and like to get off by yourself.” “That’s the reason I joined you and Dorothy,” said Peter. “Do you hate women?” persisted Leonore. “A man is not bound to incriminate himself,” replied Peter, smiling. “Then that’s the reason why you don’t like society, and why you are so untalkative to women. I don’t like men who think badly of women. Now, I want to know why you don’t like them?” “Supposing,” said Peter, “you were asked to sit down to a game of whist, without knowing anything of the game. Do you think you could like it?” “No. Of course not!” “Well, that is my situation toward women. They have never liked me, nor treated me as they do other men. And so, when I am put with a small-talk woman, I feel all at sea, and, try as I may, I can’t please her. They are never friendly with me as they are with other men.” “Rubbish!” said Dorothy. “It’s what you do, not what she does, that makes the trouble. You look at a woman with those grave eyes and that stern jaw of yours, and we all feel that we are fools on the spot, and really become so. I never stopped being afraid of you till I found out that in reality you were afraid of me. You know you are. You are afraid of all women.” “He isn’t a bit afraid of women,” affirmed Leonore. Just then Mr. Beekman came up. “Er—Mrs. Rivington. You know this is—er—a sort of house-warming, and they tell me we are to go over the house, don’t you know, if we wish. May I harve the pleasure?” Dorothy conferred the boon. Peter looked down at Leonore with a laugh in his eyes. “Er—Miss D’Alloi,” he said, with the broadest of accents, “you know this,—er—is a sort of a house-warming and—” He only imitated so far and then they both laughed. Leonore rose. “With pleasure. I only wish Mrs. Grinnell had heard you. I didn’t know you could mimic?” “I oughtn’t. It’s a small business. But I am so happy that I couldn’t resist the temptation.” Leonore asked, “What makes you so happy?” “My new friend,” said Peter. Leonore went on up the stairs without saying anything. At the top, however, she said, enthusiastically: “You do say the nicest things! What room would you like to see first?” “Yours,” said Peter.