enough."

"Peter, will you invite me some day?"

"Would he?" Peter longed to tell her that the place and everything it
contained, including its owner--Then Peter said to himself, "You really
don't know anything about her. Stop your foolishness." Still Peter knew
that--that foolishness was nice. He said, "People only care for my
dinners because they are few and far between, and their being way down
here in the city, after business hours, makes them something to talk
about. Society wants badly something to talk about most of the time. Of
course, my friends are invited." Peter looked down at Leonore, and she
understood, without, his saying so, that she was to be a future guest.

"How do you manage about the prog, chum?"

"Mr. Le Grand had a man--a Maryland darky--whom he turned over to me. He
looks after me generally, but his true forte is cooking. For oysters and
fish and game I can't find his equal. And, as I never attempt very
elaborate dinners, he cooks and serves for a party of six in very good
shape. We are not much in haste down here after six, because it's so
still and quiet. The hurry's gone up-town to the social slaves. Suppose
you stay and try his skill at lunch to-day? My partners generally are
with me, and Jenifer always has something good for them."

"By all means," said Watts.

But Leonore said: "No. We mustn't make a nuisance of ourselves the first
time we come." Peter and Watts tried to persuade her, but she was not
persuadable. Leonore had no intention, no matter how good a time it
meant, of lunching sola with four men.

"I think we must be going," she said.

"You mustn't go without seeing the rest of my quarters," said Peter,
hoping to prolong the visit.

Leonore was complaisant to that extent. So they went into the pantry,
and Leonore proceeded, apparently, to show her absolute ignorance of
food matters under the pretext that she was displaying great
housekeeping knowledge. She told Peter that he ought to keep his
champagne on ice. "That champagne will spoil if it isn't kept on ice."
She complained because some bottles of Burgundy had dust on them.
"That's not merely untidy," she said, "but it's bad for the wine. It
ought to be stood on end, so that the sediment can settle." She
criticised the fact that a brace of canvas-backs were on ice. "All your
game should be hung," she said. She put her finger or her eyes into
every drawer and cupboard, and found nothing to praise. She was
absolutely g