Perhaps Leonore merely meant another cup of tea. Whatever she
meant, Peter never learned, for, barely had he tasted his tea when the
girl on the lounge beside him gave a cry. She rose, and as she did so,
some of the tea-things fell to the floor with a crash.
"Leonore!" cried Peter. "What--"
"Peter!" cried Leonore. "Say it isn't so?" It was terrible to see the
suffering in her face and to hear the appeal in her voice.
"My darling," cried the mother, "what is the matter?"
"It can't be," cried Leonore. "Mamma! Papa! Say it isn't so?"
"What, my darling?" said Peter, supporting the swaying figure.
"This," said Leonore, huskily, holding out the newspaper.
Mrs. D'Alloi snatched it. One glance she gave it. "Oh, my poor darling!"
she cried. "I ought not to have allowed it. Peter! Peter! Was not the
stain great enough, but you must make my poor child suffer for it?" She
shoved Peter away, and clasped Leonore wildly in her arms.
"Mamma!" cried Leonore. "Don't talk so! Don't! I know he didn't! He
couldn't!"
Peter caught up the paper.
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