“I haven’t noticed it, dear,” said her mother. Dorothy went up to the pair and said: “Peter, won’t you show Miss Biddle the conservatories! You know,” she explained, “they are very beautiful.” Peter rose dutifully, but with a very passive look on his face. “And, Peter,” said Dorothy, dolefully, “will you take me in to supper? I haven’t found a man who’s had the grace to ask me.” “Yes.” “We’ll sit at the same table,” said Dorothy to Miss Biddle. When Peter got into the carriage that evening he was very blue. “I had only one waltz,” he told himself, “and did not really see anything else of her the whole evening.” “Is that Miss Biddle as clever as people say she is?” asked Mrs. D’Alloi. “She is a very unusual woman,” said Peter, “I rarely have known a better informed one.” Peter’s tone of voice carried the inference that he hated unusual and informed women, and as this is the case with most men, his voice presumably reflected his true thoughts. “I should say so,” said Watts. “At our little table she said the brightest things, and told the best stories. That’s a girl as is a girl. I tried to see her afterwards, but found that Peter was taking an Italian lesson of her.” “What do you mean?” asked Mrs. D’Alloi. “I have a chap who breakfasts with me three times a week, to talk Italian, which I am trying to learn,” said Peter, “and Dorothy told Mrs. Biddle, so she offered to talk in it. She has a beautiful accent and it was very good of her to offer, for I knew very little as yet, and don’t think she could have enjoyed it.” “What do you want with Italian?” asked Mrs. D’Alloi. “To catch the Italian vote,” said Peter. “Oh, you sly-boots,” said Watts. Then he turned. “What makes my Dot so silent?” he asked. “Oh,” said Leonore in weary tones, “I’ve danced too much and I’m very, very tired.” “Well,” said Watts, “see that you sleep late.” “I shall be all right to-morrow,” said Leonore, “and I’m going to have an early horseback ride.” “Peter and I will go too,” said Watts. “I’m sorry,” said Peter. “I’m to ride with Dorothy and Miss Biddle.” “Ha, ha,” said Watts. “More Italian lessons, eh?” Two people looked very cross that evening when they got to their rooms. Leonore sighed to her maid: “Oh, Marie, I am so tired! Don’t let me be disturbed till it’s nearly lunch.” And Peter groaned to nobody in particular, “An evening and a ride gone! I tried to make Dorothy understand. It’s too bad of her to be so dense.” So clearly Dorothy was to blame. Yet the cause of all this trouble fell asleep peacefully, remarking to herself, just before she drifted into dreamland, “Every man in love ought to have a guardian, and I’ll be Peter’s.” CHAPTER LIII. INTERFERENCE.