ng to stuff me," said Pell, "If it is so, or
anything like it, you wouldn't know."

"Oh," said Leonore, tantalizingly, "I could tell you a great deal more
than that. But of course you don't care to talk politics with a girl."

Pell weakened. "Tell me who told you about it?"

"I think we must go home to lunch," said Leonore, turning to Peter, who
had enjoyed Leonore's triumph almost as much as she had.

"Peter," said Pell, "have you heard what Miss D'Alloi has been saying?"

"Part of it."

"Where can she have picked it up?

"I met Miss D'Alloi at a lunch at the White House, last June," said
Peter seriously, "and she, and the President, and I, talked politics.
Politically, Miss D'Alloi is rather a knowing person. I hope you haven't
been saying anything indiscreet, Miss D'Alloi?"

"I'm afraid I have," laughed Leonore, triumphantly, adding, "but I won't
tell anything more."

Pell looked after them as they went towards the carriage. "How
extraordinary!" he said. "She couldn't have it from Peter. He tells
nothing. Where the deuce did she get it, and is it so?" Then he said:
"Senator Van Brunt Pell," with a roll on all the r's. "That sounds well.
I wonder if there's anything in it?"

"I think," said Leonore to Peter, triumphantly "that he would like to
have talked politics. But he'll get nothing but torture from me if he
tries."

It began to dawn on Peter that Leonore did not, despite her frank
manner, mean all she said. He turned to her, and asked:

"Are you really in earnest in saying that you'll refuse every man who
asks you to marry him within five years?"

Leonore's triumph scattered to the four winds. "What an awfully impudent
question," she thought, "after my saying it so often. What shall I
answer?" She looked Peter in the eye with severity. "I shan't refuse,"
she said, "because I shan't even let him speak. If any man dares to
attempt it, I'll tell him frankly I don't care to listen."

"She really means it," sighed Peter internally. "Why is it, that the
best girls don't care to marry?" Peter became very cross, and, what is
worse, looked it.

Nor was Leonore much better, "There," she said, "I knew just how it
would be. He's getting sulky already. He isn't nice any more. The best
thing will be to let him speak, for then he'll go back to New York, and
won't bother me." The corners of her mouth drew away down, and life
became very gray.

So "the best of friends" rode home from the Casino, without so muc