“I do not feel that I have ever known Peter. He does not let people perceive what is underneath,” said Miss De Voe. “But of one thing I am sure. Nearly everything he does is done from sentiment. At heart he is an idealist.” “Oh!” cried several. “That is a most singular statement,” said Mr. Pierce. “There is not a man I know who has less of the sentimental and ideal in him. An idealist is a man of dreams and romance. Peter is far too sensible a fellow to be that. There is nothing heroic or romantic in him.” “Nonsense, _Paternus_,” said Watts. “You don’t know anything about the old chap. You’ve only seen him as a cool clever lawyer. If your old definition of romance is right: that it is ‘Love, and the battle between good and evil,’ Peter has had more true romance than all the rest of us put together.” “No,” said Mr. Pierce. “You have merely seen Peter in love, and so you all think he is romantic. He isn’t. He is a cool man, who never acts without weighing his actions, and therein has lain the secret of his success. He calmly marks out his line of life, and, regardless of everything else, pursues it. He disregards everything not to his purpose, and utilizes everything that serves. I predicted great success for him many years ago when he was fresh from college, simply from a study of his mental characteristics and I have proved myself a prophet. He has never made a slip, legally, politically, or socially. To use a yachting expression, he has ‘made everything draw.’ An idealist, or a man of romance and fire and impulse could never succeed as he has done. It is his entire lack of feeling which has led to his success. Indeed—” “I can’t agree with you,” interrupted Dorothy, sitting up from her collapse as if galvanized into life and speech by Mr. Pierce’s monologue. “You don’t understand Peter. He is a man of great feeling. Think of that speech of his about those children! Think of his conduct to his mother as long as she lived! Think of the goodness and kindness he showed to the poor! Why, Ray says he has refused case after case for want of time in recent years, while doing work for people in his ward which was worth nothing. If—” “They were worth votes,” interjected Mr. Pierce. “Look at his buying the Costell place in Westchester when Mr. Costell died so poor, and giving it to Mrs. Costell,” continued Dorothy, warming with her subject. “Look at his going to those strikers’ families, and arranging to help them. Were those things done for votes? If I could only tell you of something he once did for me, you would not say that he was a man without feeling.”