he found a way for them through the crowd, Peter
glanced down at her, and something like a smile tugged at the corners
of a decidedly masculine mouth, and lit up his eyes. Suddenly, at Locust
Street, under the lamp, she stopped and surveyed him. She saw a very
real, very human individual, clad in a dark nondescript suit of clothes
which had been bought ready-made, and plainly without the bestowal of
much thought, on Fifth Street. The fact that they were a comparative
fit was in itself a tribute to the enterprise of the Excelsior Clothing
Company, for Honora's observation that he was too long one way had
been just. He was too tall, his shoulders were too high, his nose too
prominent, his eyes too deep-set; and he wore a straw hat with the brim
turned up.

To Honora his appearance was as familiar as the picture of the Pope
which had always stood on Catherine's bureau. But to-night, by grace of
some added power of vision, she saw him with new and critical eyes. She
was surprised to discover that he was possessed of a quality with
which she had never associated him--youth. Not to put it too
strongly--comparative youth.

"Peter," she demanded, "why do you dress like that?"

"Like what?" he said.

Honora seized the lapel of his coat.

"Like that," she repeated. "Do you know, if you wore different clothes,
you might almost be distinguished looking. Don't laugh. I think it's
horrid of you always to laugh when I tell you things for your own good."

"It was the idea of being almost distinguished looking that--that gave
me a shock," he assured her repentantly.

"You should dress on a different principle," she insisted.

Peter appeared dazed.

"I couldn't do that," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because--because I don't dress on any principle now."

"Yes, you do," said Honora, firmly. "You dress on the principle of
the wild beasts and fishes. It's all in our natural history at Miss
Farmer's. The crab is the colour of the seaweed, and the deer of the
thicket. It's a device of nature for the protection of weak things."

Peter drew himself up proudly.

"I have always understood, Miss Leffingwell, that the king of beasts was
somewhere near the shade of the jungle."

Honora laughed in spite of this apparent refutation of her theory of his
apparel, and shook her head.

"Do be serious, Peter. You'd make much more of an impression on people
if you wore clothes that had--well, a little more distinction."

"What's the use of ma