Peter wanted to kick him, but he didn’t.
“I congratulate you,” said another man.
“On what?” Peter saw no cause for congratulation, only for sorrow.
“Oh, Peter,” said Dorothy, sailing up at this junction, “how nice! And such a surprise!”
“Why, haven’t you heard?” said mine host.
“Oh,” cried Leonore, “is it about the Convention?”
“Yes,” said a man. “Manners is in from the club and tells us that a despatch says your name was sprung on the Convention at nine, and that you were chosen by acclamation without a single ballot being taken. Every one’s thunderstruck.”
“Oh, no,” said a small voice, fairly bristling with importance, “I knew all about it.”
Every one laughed at this, except Dorothy. Dorothy had a suspicion that it was true. But she didn’t say so. She sniffed visibly, and said, “Nonsense. As if Peter would tell you secrets. Come, Peter, I want to take you over and let Miss Biddle congratulate you.”
“Peter has just asked me for this waltz,” said Leonore. “Oh, Mr. Rutgers, I’m so sorry, I’m going to dance this with Mr. Stirling.”