Peter almost reeled again at the thought of waltzing with Leonore. Was it possible life had such richness in it? Then he said with a bitter note in his voice very unusual to him:
“I’m afraid I’m too old to learn.”
“Not a bit,” said Leonore. “You don’t look any older than lots of men I’ve seen valsing. Young men I mean. And I’ve seen men seventy years old dancing in Europe.”
Whether Peter could have kept his seat much longer is to be questioned. But fortunately for him, the horses here came to a stop in front of a stable.
“Why,” said Leonore, “here we are already! What a short ride it has been.”
Peter thought so too, and groaned over the end of it. But then he suddenly remembered that Leonore was to be lifted from her horse. He became cold with the thought that she might jump before he could get to her, and he was off his horse and by her side with the quickness of a military training. He put his hands up, and for a moment had—well, Peter could usually express himself but he could not put that moment into words. And it was not merely that Leonore had been in his arms for a moment, but that he had got a good look up into her eyes.
“I wish you would take my horse round to the Riding Club,” he told the groom. “I wish to see Miss D’Alloi home.”
“Thank you very much, but my maid is here in the brougham, so I need not trouble you. Good-bye, and thank you. Oh, thank you so much!” She stood very close to Peter, and looked up into his eyes with her own. “There’s no one I would rather have had save me.”
She stepped into the brougham, and Peter closed the door. He mounted his horse again, and straightening himself up, rode away.
“Hi thought,” remarked the groom to the stableman, “that ’e didn’t know ’ow to sit ’is ’orse, but ’e’s all right, arter all. ’E rides like ha ’orse guards capting, w’en ’e don’t ’ave a girl to bother ’im.”