They prayed for
rain in church on Sunday, on account of the drought, and Peter said
"Amen" with fervor. Anything to end such fluttering.
At the end of two weeks, Peter said sadly that he must be going.
"Rubbish," said Watts. "You are to stay for a month."
"I hope you'll stay," said Mrs. D'Alloi.
Peter waited a moment for some one else to speak. Some one else didn't.
"I think I must," he said. "It isn't a matter of my own wishes, but I'm
needed in Syracuse." Peter spoke as if Syracuse was the ultimate of
human misery.
"Is it necessary for you to be there?" asked Leonore.
"Not absolutely, but I had better go."
Later in the day Leonore said, "I've decided you are not to go to
Syracuse. I shall want you here to explain what they do to me."
And that cool, insulting speech filled Peter with happiness.
"I've decided to stay another week," he told Mrs. D'Alloi.
Nor could all the appeals over the telegraph move him, though that day
and the next the wires to Newport from New York and Syracuse were kept
hot, the despatches came so continuously.
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