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So he said: "Madame Mellerie has been telling me what a good Latin scholar Miss D'Alloi is. I certainly shan't display my ignorance, till she has looked at it." Then he carried the envelope over to Leonore, and in handing it to her, moved a chair for her, not neglecting one for himself. Mrs.
But I give my friends a glass, when they are good enough to come to me. I live my own life, to please myself, but for that very reason, I want others to live their lives to please themselves. Trying to live other people's lives for them, is a pretty dog-in-the-manger business." Just then Mrs. D'Alloi joined them. "Were you able to translate it?" she asked, sitting down by them.
D'Alloi had managed to stand between Leonore and himself, as if protecting the former, till she had been able to force her arrangements. So with the first stir Peter had risen, and when the little bustle had ceased he was already standing by Leonore, talking to her. Mrs. D'Alloi did not look happy, but for the moment she was helpless.
D'Alloi told him to sit in a given place, and then put Madame Mellerie down by him. Peter had not called to see Madame Mellerie. But he made a virtue of necessity, and he was too instinctively courteous not to treat the Frenchwoman with the same touch of deference his manner towards women always had.
"Peter," cried Mrs. D'Alloi. "Of whose child were you speaking?" Peter was still standing by the desk. He looked sad and broken, as he said: "This is the mother, Mrs. D'Alloi." "Yes? Yes?" Peter raised his eyes to Helen's and looked at her. Then he said quietly: "And Watts will tell you that I am its father." The dramatic pause which followed Peter's statement was first broken by Mrs.
I forgot. Don't cry so." Peter was pleading in an anxious voice. He felt as if he had committed murder. "There, there, Dot. Don't cry. It's nothing to cry about." Miss D'Alloi was crying and endeavoring at the same time to solve the most intricate puzzle ever yet propounded by man or woman that is, to find a woman's pocket. She complicated things even more by trying to talk.
D'Alloi, who, as a mother, had no intention of having it supposed that Leonore was not more loved than loving. "Taking modern marriage as a basis " said Mr. Pierce. "Oh," laughed Dorothy, "there's no doubt they are a pair, and I'm very proud of it, because I did it." "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" crowed Ray. "I did," said Dorothy, "and my own husband is not the one to cast reflection on my statement."
Now he saw the original of his dream, with the freshness and glamour gone, not merely from the dream, but from his own eyes. Peter had met many pretty girls, and many sweet ones since that week at the Pierces. He had gained a very different point of view of women from that callow time. Peter was not blunderer enough to tell Mrs. D'Alloi that he too, saw a change.
"Part of it." "Where can she have picked it up? "I met Miss D'Alloi at a lunch at the White House, last June," said Peter seriously, "and she, and the President, and I, talked politics. Politically, Miss D'Alloi is rather a knowing person. I hope you haven't been saying anything indiscreet, Miss D'Alloi?"
I don't feel like it this morning," said Leonore. As Watts left the hall, a servant entered it. "I had to wait, Miss D'Alloi," he said. "No papers are for sale till eight o'clock." Leonore took the newspaper silently and went to the library. Then she opened it and looked at the first column. She read it hurriedly.
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