The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him. Paul Leicester Ford

and ladies to the wharf.

      But the tramp had brought results which were quickly to manifest themselves. As the party paired off for the walk to the Shrubberies, both Watts and Peter joined Miss Pierce, which was not at all to Peter's liking.

      "Go on with the rest, Watts," said Peter quietly.

      Miss Pierce and Watts both stopped short in surprise.

      "Eh?" said the latter.

      "You join the rest of the party on ahead," said Peter.

      "I don't understand," said Watts, who could hardly have been more surprised if Peter had told him to drown himself.

      "I want to say something to Miss Pierce," explained Peter.

      Watts caught his breath. If Peter had not requested his absence and given his reason for wishing it, in Miss Pierce's hearing, Watts would have formed an instant conclusion as to what it meant, not far from the truth. But that a man should deliberately order another away, in the girl's hearing, so that he might propose to her, was too great an absurdity for Watts to entertain for more than a second. He laughed, and said, "Go on yourself, if you don't like the company."

      "No," said Peter. "I want you to go on." Peter spoke quietly, but there was an inflexion in his singularly clear voice, which had more command in it than a much louder tone in others. Watts had learned to recognize it, and from past experience knew that Peter was not to be moved when he used it. But here the case was different. Hitherto he had been trying to make Peter do something. Now the boot was on the other leg, and Watts saw therein a chance for some fun. He therefore continued to stand still, as they had all done since Peter had exploded his first speech, and began to whistle. Both men, with that selfishness common to the sex, failed entirely to consider whether Miss Pierce was enjoying the incident.

      "I think," remarked Miss Pierce, "that I will leave you two to settle it, and run on with the rest."

      "Don't," spoke Peter quickly. "I have something to say to you."

      Watts stopped his whistling. "What the deuce is the old boy up to?" he thought to himself. Miss Pierce hesitated. She wanted to go, but something in Peter's voice made it very difficult. "I had no idea he could speak so decidedly. He's not so tractable as I thought. I think Watts ought to do what he asks. Though I don't see why Mr. Stirling wants to send him away," she said to herself.

      "Watts," said Peter, "this is the last chance I shall really have to thank Miss Pierce, for I leave before breakfast to-morrow."

      There was nothing appealing in the way it was said. It seemed a mere statement of a fact. Yet something in the voice gave it the character of a command.

      "'Nough said, chum," said Watts, feeling a little cheap at his smallness in having tried to rob Peter of his farewell. The next moment he was rapidly overtaking the advance-party.

      By all conventions there should have been an embarrassing pause after this extraordinary colloquy, but there was not. When Peter decided to do a thing, he never faltered in the doing. If making love or declaring it had been a matter of directness and plain-speaking, Peter would have been a successful lover. But few girls are won by lovers who carry business methods and habits of speech into their courtship.

      "Miss Pierce," said Peter, "I could not go without thanking you for your kindness to me. I shall never forget this week."

      "I am so glad you have enjoyed it," almost sang Miss Pierce, in her pleasure at this reward for her week of self-sacrifice.

      "And I couldn't go," said Peter, his clear voice suddenly husking, "without telling you how I love you."

      "Love me!" exclaimed Miss Pierce, and she brought the walk again to a halt, in her surprise.

      "Yes," replied Peter simply, but the monosyllable meant more than the strongest protestations, as he said it.

      "Oh," almost cried his companion, "I am so sorry."

      "Don't say that," said Peter; "I don't want it to be a sorrow to you."

      "But it's so sudden," gasped Miss Pierce.

      "I suppose it is," said Peter, "but I love you and can't help telling it. Why shouldn't one tell one's love as soon as one feels it? It's the finest thing a man can tell a woman."

      "Oh, please don't," begged Miss Pierce, her eyes full of tears in sympathy for him. "You make it so hard for me to say that—that you mustn't"

      "I really didn't think you could care for me—as I cared for you," replied Peter, rather more to the voice than to the words of the last speech. "Girls have never liked me."

      Miss Pierce began to sob. "It's all a mistake. A dreadful mistake," she cried, "and it is my fault."

      "Don't say that," said Peter, "It's nothing but my blundering."

      They walked on in silence to the Shrubberies, but as they came near to the glare of the lighted doorway, Peter halted a moment.

      "Do you think," he asked, "that it could ever be different?"

      "No," replied Miss Pierce.

      "Because, unless there is—is some one else," continued Peter, "I shall not——"

      "There is," interrupted Miss Pierce, the determination in Peter's voice frightening her info disclosing her secret.

      Peter said to himself, "It is Watts after all." He was tempted to say it aloud, and most men in the sting of the moment would have done so. But he thought it would not be the speech of a gentleman. Instead he said, "Thank you." Then he braced himself, and added: "Please don't let my love cause you any sorrow. It has been nothing but a joy to me. Good-night and good-bye."

      He did not even offer to shake hands in parting. They went into the hallway together, and leaving the rest of the party, who were already raiding the larder for an impromptu supper, to their own devices, they passed upstairs, Miss Pierce to bathe her eyes and Peter to pack his belongings.

      "Where are Helen and Stirling?" inquired Mr. Pierce when the time came to serve out the Welsh rarebit he was tending.

      "They'll be along presently," said Watts. "Helen forgot something, and they went back after it."

      "They will be properly punished by the leathery condition of the rarebit, if they don't hurry. And as we are all agreed that Stirling is somewhat lacking in romance, he will not get a corresponding pleasure from the longer stroll to reward him for that. There, ladies and gentlemen, that is a rarebit that will melt in your mouth, and make the absent ones regret their foolishness. As the gourmand says in 'Richelieu,' 'What's diplomacy compared to a delicious pâté?'"

CHAPTER VII.

       Table of Contents

FACING THE WORLD.

       Table of Contents

      Army surgeons recognize three types of wounded. One type so nervous, that it drops the moment it is struck, whether the wound is disabling or not. Another so nerveless, that it fights on, unconscious that it has been hit. A third, who, feeling the wound, goes on fighting, sustained by its nerve. It is over the latter sort that the surgeons shake their heads and look anxious.

      Peter did his packing quietly and quickly, not pausing for a moment in the task. Then he went downstairs, and joined the party, just finishing the supper. He refused, it is true, to eat anything, and was quiet, but this phase was so normal in him, that it occasioned no remark. Asked where Miss Pierce was, he explained briefly that he had left her in the hall, in order to do his packing and had not seen her since.

      In a few moments the party broke up. Peter said a good-bye to each, quite conscious of what he was doing, yet really saying more and better things