“You want to save one of those for me,” he said, presently. “Take one,” said Leonore. “My legal rule has been that I never take what I can get given me. You can’t do less than pin it in my button-hole, considering that it is my birthday.” “If I have a duty to do, I always get through with it at once,” said Leonore. She picked out a rose, arranged the leaves as only womankind can, and, turning to Peter, pinned it in his button-hole. But when she went to take her hands away, she found them held against the spot so firmly that she could feel the heart-beats underneath. “Oh, please,” was all she said, appealingly, while Peter’s rose seemed to reflect some of its color on her cheeks. “I don’t want you to give it to me if you don’t wish,” said Peter, simply. “But last night I sat up late thinking about it. All night I dreamed about it. When I waked up this morning, I was thinking about it. And I’ve thought about it ever since. I can wait, but I’ve waited so long!” Then Leonore, with very red cheeks, and a very timid manner, held her lips up to Peter. “Still,” Leonore said presently, when again arranging of the roses, “since you’ve waited so long, you needn’t have been so slow about it when you did get it.” “I’m sorry I did it so badly,” said Peter, contritely. “I always was slow! Let me try again?” “No.” “Then show me how?” “No.” “Now who’s obstinate?” inquired Peter. “You,” said Leonore, promptly. “And I don’t like it.” “Oh, Leonore,” said Peter. “If you only knew how happy I am!” Leonore forgot all about her charge of obstinacy. “So am I,” she said. “And I won’t be obstinate any more.” “Was that better?” Peter asked, presently. “No,” said Leonore. “That wouldn’t have been possible. But you do take so long! I shan’t be able to give you more than one a day. It takes so much time.” “But then I shall have to be much slower about it.” “Then I’ll only give you one every other day.” “Then I shall be so much the longer.” “Yes,” sighed Leonore. “You are obstinate, after all!” So they went on till breakfast was announced. Perhaps it was foolish. But they were happy in their foolishness, if such it was. It is not profitable to write what they said. It is idle to write of the week that followed. To all others what they said and did could only be the sayings and doings of two very intolerable people. But to them it was what can never be told in words—and to them we will leave it. It was Leonore who put an end to this week. Each day that Peter lingered brought letter and telegraphic appeals to him from the party-leaders, over which Peter only laughed, and which he not infrequently failed even to answer. But Mr. Pell told Leonore something one day which made her say to Peter later: “Is it true that you promised to speak in New York on the fifteenth?” “Yes. But I wrote Green last night saying I shan’t.” “And were you to have made a week of speeches through the State?” “Yes. But I can’t spare the time.”