Leonore was half angry, and half laughing. “You ought to want to read them to me,” she said, “since we are such friends.”
“I do,” said Peter, “And you ought to want to teach me to waltz, since we are such friends.”
“But I don’t like the spirit,” said Leonore.
Peter laughed. “Nor I,” he said. “Still, I’ll prove I’m the better, by reading them to you.”
“Now I will teach him,” said Leonore to herself.
Peter unfolded the many sheets. “This is very secret, of course,” he said.
“Yes.” Leonore looked round the hall as if she was a conspirator. “Come to the window-seat upstairs,” she whispered, and led the way. When they had ensconced themselves there, and drawn the curtains, she said, “Now.”
“You had better sit nearer me,” said Peter, “so that I can whisper it.”
“No,” said Leonore. “No one can hear us.” She thought, “I’d snub you for that, if I wasn’t afraid you wouldn’t read it.”
“You understand that you are not to repeat this to anyone.” Peter was smiling over something.