When Peter had seated her by her mother, he said: “Excuse me for a moment. I want to speak to Dorothy.”
“I knew you would be philandering after the young married women. Men of your age always do,” said Leonore, with an absolutely incomprehensible cruelty.
So Peter did not speak to Dorothy. He sat down by Leonore and talked, till a scoundrelly, wretched, villainous, dastardly, low-born, but very good-looking fellow carried off his treasure. Then he wended his way to Dorothy.
“Why did you tell me to say ‘yes’?” he asked.
Dorothy sighed. “I thought you couldn’t have understood me,” she said; “but you are even worse than I supposed. Never mind, it’s done now. Peter, will you do me a great favor?”
“I should like to,” said Peter.
“Miss Biddle, of Philadelphia, is here. She doesn’t know many of the men, and she doesn’t dance. Now, if I introduce you, won’t you try to make her have a good time?”
“Certainly,” said Peter, gloomily.
“And don’t go and desert her, just because another man comes up. It makes a girl think you are in a hurry to get away, and Miss Biddle is very sensitive. I know you don’t want to hurt her feelings.” All this had been said as they crossed the room. Then: “Miss Biddle, let me introduce Mr. Stirling.”
Peter sat down to his duty. “I mustn’t look at Leonore,” he thought, “or I shan’t be attentive.” So he turned his face away from the room heroically. As for Dorothy, she walked away with a smile of contentment. “There, miss,” she remarked, “we’ll see if you can trample on dear old Peter!”