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"Really, papa, it is plain. Just as simple as can be."
"Simple! Yes, sweet simplicity! Three-thousand-dollar-etching
simplicity! Millet simplicity! Oh, yes. Peter's a simple old dog."
"No, but the woodwork and the furniture. Isn't this an enticing chair? I
must try it." And Leonore almost dissolved from view in its depths.
Peter has that chair still. He would probably knock the man down who
offered to buy it.
It occurred to Peter that since Leonore was so extremely near the
ground, and was leaning back so far, that she could hardly help but be
looking up. So he went and stood in front of the fireplace, and looked
down at her. He pretended that his hands were cold. Watts perhaps was
right. Peter was not as simple as people thought.
It seemed to Peter that he had never had so much to see, all at once, in
his life. There were the occasional glimpses of the eyes (for Leonore,
in spite of her position, did manage to cover the larger part of them)
not one of which must be missed.


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