s will tell
you that I lied."

"Papa?"

"Yes, Dot. Dear old Peter speaks the truth."

"But if you lied to her, why not to me?"

"I can't lie to you, Leonore. I am telling you the truth. Won't you
believe me?"

"I do," cried Leonore. "I know you speak the truth. It's in your face
and voice." And the next moment her arms were about Peter's neck, and
her lips were on his.

Just then some one in the "torchlight" shouted:

"What's the matter wid Stirling?"

And a thousand voices joyfully yelled;

"He's all right."

And so was the crowd.

CHAPTER LX.

A CONUNDRUM.

Mr. Pierce was preparing to talk. Usually Mr. Pierce was talking. Mr.
Pierce had been talking already, but it had been to single listeners
only, and for quite a time in the last three hours Mr. Pierce had been
compelled to be silent. But at last Mr. Pierce believed his moment had
come. Mr. Pierce thought he had an audience, and a plastic audience at
that. And these three circumstances in combination made Mr. Pierce
fairly bubbling with words. No longer would he have to waste his
precious wit and wisdom, _tete-a-tete,_ or on himself.

At first blush Mr. Pierce seemed right in his conjecture. Seated--in
truth, collapsed, on chairs and lounges, in a disarranged and
untidy-looking drawing-room, were nearly twenty very tired-looking
people. The room looked as if there had just been a free fight there,
and the people looked as if they had been the participants. But the
multitude of flowers and the gay dresses proved beyond question that
something else had made the disorder of the room and had put that
exhausted look upon the faces.

Experienced observers would have understood it at a glimpse. From the
work and fatigues of this world, people had gathered for a little
enjoyment of what we call society. It is true that both the room and its
occupants did not indicate that there had been much recreation. But,
then, one can lay it down as an axiom that the people who work for
pleasure are the hardest-working people in the world; and, as it is that
for which society labors, this scene is but another proof that they get
very much fatigued over their pursuit of happiness and enjoyment,
considering that they hunt for it in packs, and entirely exclude the
most delicious intoxicant known--usually called oxygen--from their list
of supplies from the caterer. Certainly this particular group did look
exhausted far beyond the speech-making point. But this,