sts can.

It was a large dinner, and so was served in the ball-room. The sixty
people gathered were divided into little groups, and seated at small
tables holding six or eight. Peter knew all but one at his table, to the
extent of having had previous meetings. They were all fashionables, and
the talk took the usual literary-artistic-musical turn customary with
that set. "Men, not principles" is the way society words the old cry, or
perhaps "personalities, not generalities" is a better form. So Peter ate
his dinner quietly, the conversation being general enough not to force
him to do more than respond, when appealed to. He was, it is true,
appealed to frequently. Peter had the reputation, as many quiet men
have, of being brainy. Furthermore he knew the right kind of people, was
known to enjoy a large income, was an eligible bachelor, and was
"interesting and unusual." So society no longer rolled its Juggernaut
over him regardlessly, as of yore. A man who was close friends with half
a dozen exclusives of the exclusives, was a man not to be disregarded,
simply because he didn't talk. Society people applied much the same test
as did the little "angle" children, only in place of "he's frinds wid
der perlice," they substituted "he's very intimate with Miss De Voe, and
the Ogdens and the Pells."

Peter had dimly hoped that he would find himself seated at Leonore's
table--He had too much self depreciation to think for a moment that he
would take her in--but hers was a young table, he saw, and he would not
have minded so much if it hadn't been for that Marquis. Peter began to
have a very low opinion of foreigners. Then he remembered that Leonore
had the same prejudice, so he became more reconciled to the fact that
the Marquis was sitting next her. And when Leonore sent him a look and a
smile, and held up the wrist, so as to show the pearl bracelet, Peter
suddenly thought what a delicious _rissole_ he was eating.

As the dinner waned, one of the footmen brought him a card, on which
Watts had written: "They want me to say a few words of welcome and of
Dot. Will you respond?" Peter read the note and then wrote below it:
"Dear Miss D'Alloi: You see the above. May I pay you a compliment? Only
one? Or will it embarrass you?" When the card came back a new line said:
"Dear Peter: I am not afraid of your compliment, and am very curious to
hear it." Peter said, "Tell Mr. D'Alloi that I will with pleasure." Then
he tucked the card in his