for it, his license
shall be cancelled, and a heavy fine incurred by any one who gives or
sells that man a drink thereafter."

"Oh," laughed Watts, "you are heavenly! Just imagine a host saying to
his dinner-party, 'Friends, before this wine is passed, will you please
show me your drink licenses.'"

"You may laugh, Watts," said Peter, "but such a request would have saved
many a young fellow from ruin, and society from an occasional terrible
occurrence which even my little social experience has shown me. And it
would soon be so much a matter of course, that it would be no more than
showing your ticket, to prove yourself entitled to a ride. It solves the
problem of drunkenness. And that is all we can hope to do, till humanity
is--" Then Peter, who had been looking at Leonore, smiled.

"Is what?" asked Leonore.

"The rest is in cipher," said Peter, but if he had finished his
sentence, it would have been, "half as perfect as you are."

After this last relay of callers had departed, it began to pour so nobly
that Peter became hopeful once more. He wandered about, making a
room-to-room canvass, in search of happiness, and to his surprise saw
happiness descending the broad stair incased in an English shooting-cap,
and a mackintosh.

"You are not going out in such weather?" demanded Peter.

"Yes. I've had no exercise to-day, and I'm going for a walk."

"It's pouring torrents," expostulated Peter.

"I know it."

"But you'll get wet through."

"I hope so. I like to walk in the rain."

Peter put his hand on the front door-handle, to which this conversation
had carried them, "You mustn't go out," he said.

"I'm going," said Leonore, made all the more eager now that it was
forbidden.

"Please don't," said Peter weakening.

"Let me pass," said Leonore decisively.

"Does your father know?"

"Of course not."

"Then you should ask him. It's no weather for you to walk in."

"I shan't ask him."

"Then I shall," and Peter went hurriedly to the library.

"Watts," he said, "it's raining torrents and Leonore insists on going to
walk. Please say she is not to go."

"All right," said Watts, not looking up from his book.

That was enough. Peter sped back to the hall. It was empty. He put his
head into the two rooms. Empty. He looked out of the front door. There
in the distance, was that prettiest of figures, distinguishable even
when buried in a mackintosh. Peter caught up a cap from the hall rack,
and set out in p