“Yes. But I can’t spare the time.”
“Yes, you can. You must leave to-morrow and make them.”
“I can’t,” groaned Peter.
“You must.”
“Who says so?”
“I do. Please, Peter? I so want to see you win. I shall never forgive myself if I defeat you.”
“But a whole week,” groaned Peter.
“We shall break up here on the eighteenth, and of course you would have to leave a day sooner. So you’ll not be any better off.”
“Well,” sighed Peter, “If I do as you want, will you give me the seven I shall lose before I go.”
“Dear me, Peter,” sighed Leonore, “you oughtn’t to ask them, since it’s for your own sake. I can’t keep you contented. You do nothing but encroach.”