So “the best of friends” rode home from the Casino, without so much as looking at each other, much less speaking. Clearly Peter was right. There was no good in trying to be friends any longer.
Precedent or habit, however, was too strong to sustain this condition long. First Leonore had to be helped out of the carriage. This was rather pleasant, for she had to give Peter her hand, and so life became less unworth living to Peter. Then the footman at the door gave Peter two telegraphic envelopes of the bulkiest kind, and Leonore too began to take an interest in life again.
“What are they about?” she asked.
“The Convention. I came off so suddenly that some details were left unarranged.”
“Read them out loud,” she said calmly, as Peter broke the first open.
Peter smiled at her, and said: “If I do, will you give me another waltzing lesson after lunch?”
“Don’t bargain,” said Leonore, disapprovingly.
“Very well,” said Peter, putting the telegrams in his pocket, and turning towards the stairs.
Leonore let him go up to the first landing. But as soon as she became convinced that he was really going to his room, she said, “Peter.”
Peter turned and looked down at the pretty figure at the foot of the stairs. He came down again. When he had reached the bottom he said, “Well?”