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Updated: June 8, 2025
Peter on the spot fell in love with the five letters as she pronounced them. "Plain Peter?" inquired Watts. "Now what will you call me?" "Miss D'Alloi," said Peter. "No. You are to call me call me " "Miss D'Alloi," re-affirmed Peter. "Then I will call you Mr. Stirling, Peter." "No, you won't." "Why?" "Because you said you'd call me Peter." "But not if you won't "
A speaker nowadays speaks far more to the people absent than to the people present. Peter did this that evening. He spoke, it is true, to only one person that night, but it was the best speech of the campaign. A week later, Peter rang the bell of the Fifty-seventh Street house. He was in riding costume, although he had not been riding. "Mr. and Mrs. D'Alloi are at breakfast," he was informed.
How are you, Peter, old fellow? I'd apologize for keeping you waiting, but if you've had Helen, there's no occasion. Isn't it Boileau who said that: 'The best thing about many a man is his wife'?" Mrs. D'Alloi beamed, but said, "It isn't so, Peter. He's much better than I." Watts laughed. "You'll have to excuse this, old man.
Yet there was quite as much of question as of assertion in her remark. In truth, Mrs. D'Alloi was by no means sure that Peter was all that was desirable, for any charge made against a politician in this country has a peculiar vitality and persistence. She had been told that Peter was an open supporter of saloons, and that New York politics battened on all forms of vice.
"Oh," said Leonore, "I can't let you have that That's my luck-piece." "Is it?" Peter expressed much surprise blended with satisfaction in his tone. "Yes. You don't want to take my good luck." "I will think it over, and write you a legal opinion later. "Please!" Miss D'Alloi pleaded. "That is just what I have succeeded in doing for myself." "But I want my luck-piece.
Peter replied, sending his "remembrance to Mr. and Mrs. D'Alloi in case you again meet them."
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.
Then he tore it up. He took another and wrote, "My dear Mr. D'Alloi." He tore that up. Another he began, "Dear Watts." A moment later it was in the paper basket. "My dear friend," served to bring a similar fate to the fourth. Then Peter rose and strolled about his office aimlessly. Finally he went out into a gallery running along the various rooms, and, opening a door, put his head in.
So the scenes were shifted, and they all sat and chatted till Dennis left. Then the necessary papers were brought in and looked over at Peter's study-table, and Miss D'Alloi took another of his pens. Peter hoped she'd stop and think a little, again, but she didn't. Just as she had begun an L she hesitated, however.
"Oh," said Leonore, tantalizingly, "I could tell you a great deal more than that. But of course you don't care to talk politics with a girl." Pell weakened. "Tell me who told you about it?" "I think we must go home to lunch," said Leonore, turning to Peter, who had enjoyed Leonore's triumph almost as much as she had. "Peter," said Pell, "have you heard what Miss D'Alloi has been saying?"
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