in its non-certainty. To make a paradox, he was confident that she
loved him, yet he was not sure. A man will be absolutely confident that
a certain horse will win a race, or he will be certain that a profit
will accrue from a given business transaction. Yet, until the horse has
won, or the profit is actually made, he is not assured. So it was with
Peter. He thought that he had but to speak, yet dared not do it. The
present was so certain, and the future might have such agonies. So for
two days he merely followed Leonore about, enjoying her pretty ways and
hardly heeding her snubs and petulance. He was very silent, and often
abstracted, but his silence and abstraction brought no relief to
Leonore, and only frightened her the more, for he hardly let her out of
his sight, and the silent devotion and tenderness were so obvious that
Leonore felt how absolutely absurd was her pretence of unconsciousness.
In his very "Miss D'Alloi" now, there was a tone in his voice and a look
in his face which really said the words: "My darling." Leonore thought
this was a mean trick, of apparently sustaining the conventions of
society, while in reality outraging them horribly, but she was helpless
to better his conduct. Twice unwittingly he even called her "Leonore"
(as he had to himself for two months), thereby terribly disconcerting
the owner of that name. She wanted to catch him up and snub him each
time, but she was losing her courage. She knew that she was walking on a
mine, and could not tell what chance word or deed of hers would bring an
explosion. "And then what can I say to him?" she asked.

What she said was this:

Peter came downstairs the third evening of his stay "armed and equipped
as the law directs" for a cotillion. In the large hallway, he found
Leonore, likewise in gala dress, resting her hand on the tall mantel of
the hall, and looking down at the fire. Peter stopped on the landing to
enjoy that pose. He went over every detail with deliberation. But girl,
gown, and things in general, were much too tempting to make this distant
glimpse over lengthy. So he descended to get a closer view. The pose
said nothing, and Peter strolled to the fire, and did likewise. But if
he did not speak he more than made up for his silence with his eyes.

Finally the pose said, "I suppose it's time we started?"

"Some one's got to speak," the pose had decided. Evidently the pose felt
uneasy under that silent gaze.

"It's only a little pas