"Let go my hand, Peter, please," a voice whispered imploringly. "Oh,
please! I can't to-night. Oh, please!"
"Say 'dear,'" whispered Peter, meanly.
"Please, dear," said Leonore. Then Leonore went towards the stairs
hurriedly.
"Not off already, Dot, surely?"
"Yes. I'm going to bed."
"Come and have a cigar, Peter," said Watts, walking towards the library.
"In a moment," said Peter. He went to the foot of the stairs and said,
"Please, dear," to the figure going up.
"Well?" said the figure.
Peter went up five steps. "Please," he begged.
"No," said the figure, "but there is my hand."
So Peter turned the little soft palm uppermost and kissed it Then he
forgot the cigar and Watts. He went to his room, and thought of--of his
birthday gift.
CHAPTER LIX.
"GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY."
If Peter had roamed about the hall that evening, he was still more
restless the next morning. He was down early, though for no apparent
reason, and did nothing but pass from hall to room, and room to hall,
spending most of his time in the latter, however.
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