e over here, and is troubling me. He's
dreadfully poor, and papa says he thinks he is after my money. Do you
think that can be so?"

So far the public performance could not have gone better if it had been
rehearsed. But at this point, the whole programme went to pieces.
Peter's cup of tea fell to the floor with a crash, and he was leaning
back in his chair, with a look of suffering on his face.

"Peter," cried Leonore, "what is it?"

"Excuse me," said Peter, rallying a little. "Ever since an operation on
my eyes they sometimes misbehave themselves. It's neuralgia of the optic
nerve. Sometimes it pains me badly. Don't mind me. It will be all right
in a minute if I'm quiet."

"Can't I do anything?"

"No. I have an eye-wash which I used to carry with me, but it is so long
since I have had a return of my trouble that I have stopped carrying
it."

"What causes it?"

"Usually a shock. It's purely nervous."

"But there was no shock now, was there?" said Leonore, feeling so guilty
that she felt it necessary to pretend innocence.

Peter pulled himself together instantly and, leaning over, began
deliberately to gather up the fragments of the cup. Then he laid the
pieces on the tea-table and said: "I was dreadfully frightened when I
felt the cup slipping. It was very stupid in me. Will you try to forgive
me for breaking one of your pretty set?"

"That's nothing," said Leonore. To herself that young lady remarked,
"Oh, dear! It's much worse than I thought. I shan't dare say it to him,
after all"

But she did, for Peter helped her, by going back to her original
question, saying bravely: "I don't know enough about Mr. Max ---- the
Englishman, to speak of him, but I think I would not suspect men of
that, even if they are poor."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be much easier, to most men, to love you than to love
your money."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"I'm so glad. I felt so worried over it. Not about this case, for I
don't care for him, a bit. But I wondered if I had to suspect every man
who came near me."

Peter's eyes ceased to burn, and his second cup of tea, which a moment
before was well-nigh choking him, suddenly became nectar for the gods.

Then at last Leonore made the remark towards which she had been working.
At twenty-five Leonore would have been able to say it without so
dangerous a preamble.

"I don't want to be bothered by men, and wish they would let me alone,"
she said. "I haven't the slighte