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.
After Peter's return from Washington, there was a settled gloom about
him positively appalling. He could not be wooed, on any plea, by his
closest friends, to journey up-town into the social world. He failed
entirely to avail himself of the room in the Rivington's Newport villa,
though Dorothy wrote appealingly, and cited his own words to him. Even
to his partners he became almost silent, except on law matters. Jenifer
found that no delicacy, however rare or however well cooked and served,
seemed to be noticed any more than if it was mess-pork.
Pages:
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589