comfortable. She rose, saying, "Let us go to the library. I shall not
show you my pictures now. The gallery is too big to be pleasant such a
night. You must come again for that. Won't you tell me about some of the
other men you are meeting in politics?" she asked when they had sat down
before another open fire. "It seems as if all the people I know are just
alike--I suppose it's because we are all so conventional--and I am very
much interested in hearing about other kinds."

So Peter told about Dennis and Blunkers, and the "b'ys" in the saloons;
about Green and his fellow delegates; about the Honorable Mr., Mrs., and
Miss Gallagher, and their dinner companions. He did not satirize in the
least. He merely told various incidents and conversations, in a sober,
serious way; but Miss De Voe was quietly amused by much of the narrative
and said to herself, "I think he has humor, but is too serious-minded to
yield to it." She must have enjoyed his talk for she would not let Peter
go early, and he was still too ignorant of social usages to know how to
get away, whether a woman wished or no. Finally he insisted that he must
leave when the clock pointed dangerously near eleven.

"Mr. Stirling," said Miss De Voe, in a doubtful, "won't-you-please"
voice, such as few men had ever heard from her, "I want you to let me
send you home? It will only take a moment to have the carriage here."

"I wouldn't take a horse out in such weather," said Peter, in a very
settling kind of voice.

"He's obstinate," thought Miss De Voe. "And he makes his obstinacy so
dreadfully--dreadfully pronounced!" Aloud she said: "You will come
again?"