Peter said to himself, "It is Watts after all." He was tempted to say it
aloud, and most men in the sting of the moment would have done so. But
he thought it would not be the speech of a gentleman. Instead he said,
"Thank you." Then he braced himself, and added: "Please don't let my
love cause you any sorrow. It has been nothing but a joy to me.
Good-night and good-bye."

He did not even offer to shake hands in parting. They went into the
hallway together, and leaving the rest of the party, who were already
raiding the larder for an impromptu supper, to their own devices, they
passed upstairs, Miss Pierce to bathe her eyes and Peter to pack his
belongings.

"Where are Helen and Stirling?" inquired Mr. Pierce when the time came
to serve out the Welsh rarebit he was tending.

"They'll be along presently," said Watts. "Helen forgot something, and
they went back after it."

"They will be properly punished by the leathery condition of the
rarebit, if they don't hurry. And as we are all agreed that Stirling is
somewhat lacking in romance, he will not get a corresponding pleasure
from the longer stroll to reward him for that. There, ladies and
gentlemen, that is a rarebit that will melt in your mouth, and make the
absent ones regret their foolishness. As the gourmand says in
'Richelieu,' 'What's diplomacy compared to a delicious pâté?'"