Part 71 (1/2)
”And you don't want him?”
”No. I have never crossed his path without finding him engaged in something discreditable. But he's truckled himself into a kind of popularity and power, and, having always been 'a Democrat,' he hopes to get the party to endorse him.”
”Can't you order the convention not to do it?”
Peter smiled down into the eyes. ”We don't order men in this country with any success.”
”But can't you prevent them?”
”I hope so. But it looks now as if I should have to do it in a way very disagreeable to myself.”
”How?”
”This is a great secret, you understand?”
”Yes,” said Leonore, all interest and eagerness. ”I can keep a secret splendidly.”
”You are sure?” asked Peter.
”Sure.”
”So can I,” said Peter.
Leonore perfectly bristled with indignation. ”I won't be treated so,”
she said. ”Are you going to tell me?” She put on her severest manner.
”No,” said Peter.
”He is obstinate,” thought Leonore to herself. Then aloud she said: ”Then I shan't be friends any more?”
”That is very nice,” said Peter, soberly.
”What?” said Leonore, looking at him in surprise.
”I have come to the conclusion,” said Peter, ”that there is no use in our trying to be friends. So we had better give up at once. Don't you think so?”
”What a pretty horse Miss Winthrop has?” said Leonore. And she never obtained an answer to her question, nor answered Peter's.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
A MUTINEER.