ish you would rub off my spurs, and clean up my
riding trousers."

"For lohd, sar, I done dat dis day yesserday."

"Never mind, then," said Peter. "Tell Curzon to ring me up a hansom."

When Peter rode into the park he did not vacillate. He put his horse at
a sharp canter, and started round the path. But he had not ridden far
when he suddenly checked his horse, and reined him up with a couple of
riders. "I've been looking for you," he said frankly. Peter had not
ceased to be straightforward.

"Hello! This is nice," said Watts.

"Don't you think it's about time?" said Leonore. Leonore had her own
opinion of what friendship consisted. She was not angry with Peter--not
at all. But she did not look at him.

Peter had drawn his horse up to the side on which Leonore was riding.
"That is just what I thought," he said deliberately, "and that's why I'm
here now."

"How long ago did that occur to you, please?" said Leonore, with
dignity.

"About the time it occurred to me that you might ride here regularly
afternoons."

"Don't you?" Leonore was mollifying.

"No. I like the early morning, when there are fewer people."

"You unsociable old hermit," exclaimed Watts.

"But now?" asked Leonore.

When Leonore said those two words Peter had not yet had a sight of those
eyes. And he was getting desperately anxious to see them. So he replied:
"Now I shall ride in the afternoons."

He was rewarded by a look. The sweetest kind of a look. "Now, that is
very nice, Peter," said Leonore. "If we see each other every day in the
Park, we can tell each other everything that we are doing or thinking
about. So we will be very good friends for sure." Leonore spoke and
looked as if this was the pleasantest of possibilities, and Peter was
certain it was.

"I say, Peter," said Watts. "What a tremendous dude we have come out. I
wanted to joke you on it the first time I saw you, but this afternoon
it's positively appalling. I would have taken my Bible oath that it was
the last thing old Peter would become. Just look at him, Dot. Doesn't he
fill you with 'wonder, awe and praise?'"

Leonore looked at Peter a little shyly, but she said frankly:

"I've wondered about that, Peter. People told me you were a man
absolutely without style."

Peter smiled. "Do you remember what Friar Bacon's brass head said?"

"Time is: Time was: Time will never be again?" asked Leonore.

"That fits my lack of style, I think."

"Pell and Ogden, and the re