ut then I was dressed for it.
Go and put on dry clothes at once."

That was what Peter had intended to do, but he saw his advantage. "It
isn't worth while," he said.

"I never heard of such obstinacy," said Leonore. "I pity your wife, if
you ever get one. She'll have an awful time of it."

Peter did not like that view at all. But he did not forego at once his
hope of getting some compensation out of Leonore's wish. So he said:
"It's too much trouble to change my clothes, but a cup of your tea may
keep me from taking cold." It was nearly five, o'clock, and Peter was
longing for that customary half-hour at the tea-table.

Leonore said in the kindness of her heart, "When you've changed your
clothes, I'll make you a cup." Then she went upstairs. When she had
reached the second floor, she turned, and leaning over the balustrade of
the gallery, said, "Peter."

"Yes," said Peter, surveying her from below, and thinking how lovely she
was.

Leonore was smiling saucily. She said in triumph: "I had my way. I did
get my walk." Then she went to her room, her head having a very
victorious carriage.

Peter went to his room, smiling. "It's a good lawyer," he told his
mirror, "who compromises just enough to make both sides think they've
won." Peter changed his clothes with the utmost despatch, and hurried
downstairs to the tea-table. She was not there! Peter waited nearly five
minutes quietly, with a patience almost colossal. Then he began to get
restless. He wandered about the room for another two minutes. Then he
became woe-begone. "I thought she had forgiven me," he remarked.

"What?" said the loveliest of visions from the doorway. Most women would
have told one that the beauty lay in the Parisian tea-gown. Peter knew
better. Still, he was almost willing to forgive Leonore the delay caused
by the donning of it, the result was so eminently satisfactory. "And it
will take her as long to make tea as usual, anyway," he thought.

"Hadn't I better put some rum into it to-day?" he was asked, presently.

"You may put anything in it, except the sugar tongs," said Peter, taking
possession of that article.

"But then I can't put any sugar in."

"Fingers were made before forks," suggested Peter. "You don't want to
give me anything bitter, do you?"

"You deserve it," said Leonore, but she took the lumps in her fingers,
and dropped them in the cup.

"I can't wait five years!" thought Peter, "I can't wait five
months--weeks--days-