“Oh,” said Dorothy, “I’m not a bit afraid about that. Peter’s the kind of man with whom every woman’s ready to fall in love. Why, my dear, he’s had chance after chance, if he had only cared to try. But, of course, he doesn’t care for such women as you and me, who can’t enter into his thoughts or sympathize with his ambitions. To him we are nothing but dancing, dressing, prattling flutter-birds.” Then Dorothy put her head on one side, and seemed far more interested in the effect of her own frock than in Peter’s fate. “He talks politics to me,” Leonore could not help saying. Leonore did not like Dorothy’s last speech. “Oh, Peter’s such a gentleman that he always talks seriously even to us; but it’s only his politeness. I’ve seen him talk to girls like you, and he is delightfully courteous, and one would think he liked it. But, from little things Ray has told me, I know he looks down on society girls.” “Are you ready, Leonore?” inquired Mrs. D’Alloi. Leonore was very ready. Watts and Peter were ready also; had been ready during the whole of this dialogue. Watts was cross; Peter wasn’t. Peter would willingly have waited an hour longer, impatient only for the moment of meeting, not to get downstairs. That is the difference between a husband and a lover. “Peter,” said Leonore, the moment they were on the stairs, “do you ever tell other girls political secrets?” Dorothy was coming just behind, and she poked Peter in the back with her fan. Then, when Peter turned, she said with her lips as plainly as one can without speaking: “Say yes.” Peter looked surprised. Then he turned to Leonore and said, “No. You are the only person, man or woman, with whom I like to talk politics.” “Oh!” shrieked Dorothy to herself. “You great, big, foolish old stupid! Just as I had fixed it so nicely!” What Dorothy meant is quite inscrutable. Peter had told the truth. But, after the greetings were over, Dorothy helped Peter greatly. She said to him, “Give me your arm, Peter. There is a girl here whom I want you to meet.” “Peter’s going to dance this valse with me,” said Leonore. And Peter had two minutes of bliss, amateur though he was. Then Leonore said cruelly, “That’s enough; you do it very badly!” When Peter had seated her by her mother, he said: “Excuse me for a moment. I want to speak to Dorothy.” “I knew you would be philandering after the young married women. Men of your age always do,” said Leonore, with an absolutely incomprehensible cruelty. So Peter did not speak to Dorothy. He sat down by Leonore and talked, till a scoundrelly, wretched, villainous, dastardly, low-born, but very good-looking fellow carried off his treasure. Then he wended his way to Dorothy. “Why did you tell me to say ‘yes’?” he asked. Dorothy sighed. “I thought you couldn’t have understood me,” she said; “but you are even worse than I supposed. Never mind, it’s done now. Peter, will you do me a great favor?” “I should like to,” said Peter.