“Come, Peter, you must tell me all the news of home.”
Spence accepted his dismissal with a fairly good grace, and gave no evidence of jealousy. He put his hand on Peter's shoulder.
“If you're ever in New York, Erwin,” said he, “look me up Dallam and Spence. We're members of the Exchange, so you won't have any trouble in finding us. I'd like to talk to you sometime about the West.”
Peter thanked him.
For a little while, as they went down the driveway side by side, he was meditatively silent. She wondered what he thought of Howard Spence, until suddenly she remembered that her secret was still her own, that Peter had as yet no particular reason to single out Mr. Spence for especial consideration. She could not, however, resist saying, “New Yorkers are like that.”
“Like what?” he asked.
She coloured.
“Like—Mr. Spence. A little—self-assertive, sure of themselves.” She strove to keep out of her voice any suspicion of the agitation which was the result of the events of an extraordinary day, not yet ended. She knew that it would have been wiser not to have mentioned Howard; but Peter's silence, somehow, had impelled her to speak. “He has made quite an unusual success for so young a man.”
Peter looked at her and shook his head.
“New York—success! What is to become of poor old St. Louis?” he inquired.