“You unsociable old hermit,” exclaimed Watts.
“But now?” asked Leonore.
When Leonore said those two words Peter had not yet had a sight of those eyes. And he was getting desperately anxious to see them. So he replied: “Now I shall ride in the afternoons.”
He was rewarded by a look. The sweetest kind of a look. “Now, that is very nice, Peter,” said Leonore. “If we see each other every day in the Park, we can tell each other everything that we are doing or thinking about. So we will be very good friends for sure.” Leonore spoke and looked as if this was the pleasantest of possibilities, and Peter was certain it was.
“I say, Peter,” said Watts. “What a tremendous dude we have come out. I wanted to joke you on it the first time I saw you, but this afternoon it’s positively appalling. I would have taken my Bible oath that it was the last thing old Peter would become. Just look at him, Dot. Doesn’t he fill you with ‘wonder, awe and praise?’”
Leonore looked at Peter a little shyly, but she said frankly:
“I’ve wondered about that, Peter. People told me you were a man absolutely without style.”
Peter smiled. “Do you remember what Friar Bacon’s brass head said?”
“Time is: Time was: Time will never be again?” asked Leonore.
“That fits my lack of style, I think.”