As Peter talked, a clock struck. Stopping short, he rose. "I must ask your pardon," he said. "I had no idea I had taken so much of your time." Then putting his hand in his pocket, he produced the check. "You see that I have made a very good thing out of the whole matter and do not need this."
"One moment, Mr. Stirling," said the lady, still sitting. "Can you spare the time to lunch with me? We will sit down at once, and you shall be free to go whenever you wish."
Peter hesitated. He knew that he had the time, and it did not seem easy to refuse without giving an excuse, which he did not have. Yet he did not feel that he had the right to accept an invitation which he had perhaps necessitated by his long call.
"Thank you," said his hostess, before he had been able to frame an answer. "May I trouble you to pull that bell?"
Peter pulled the bell, and coming back, tendered the check rather awkwardly to Miss De Voe. She, however, was looking towards a doorway, which the next moment was darkened by the butler.
"Morden," she said, "you may serve luncheon at once."
"Luncheon is served, madam," said Morden.
Miss De Voe rose. "Mr. Stirling, I do not think your explanation has really affected the circumstances which led me to send that check. You acknowledge yourself that you are the poorer for that prosecution, and received no fees for trying it. As I wrote you, I merely was giving a retaining fee in that case, and as none other has been given, I still wish to do it. I cannot do such things myself, but I am weal—I—I can well afford to aid others to do them, and I hope you will let me have the happiness of feeling that I have done my little in this matter."
"Thank you," said Peter. "I was quite willing to take the money, but I was afraid you might have sent it under a misconception."
Miss De Voe smiled at Peter with a very nice look in her face. "I am the one to say 'thank you,' and I am most grateful. But we will consider that as ended, and discuss luncheon in its place."
Peter, despite his usual unconsciousness could not but notice the beauty of the table service. The meal itself was the simplest of summer luncheons, but the silver and china and glass were such as he had never seen before.
"What wine will you have with your luncheon, Mr. Stirling?" he was asked by his hostess.
"I don't—none for me," replied Peter.
"You don't approve of wine?" asked his hostess.
"Personally I have no feeling about it."
"But?" And there was a very big question mark in Miss De Voe's voice.
"My mother is strongly prejudiced against it, so I do not take it. It is really no deprivation to me, while it would mean great anxiety to her if I drank."
This started the conversation on Peter's mother and his early years, and before it had ended, his hostess had succeeded in learning much more about his origin and his New York life. The clock finally cut him short again, for they lingered at the table long after the meal was finished, though Miss De Voe made the pretence of eating a grape occasionally. When three o'clock struck, Peter, without the least simulating any other cause for going, rose hastily.
"I have used up your whole afternoon," he said, apologetically.
"I think," smiled Miss De Voe, "that we are equal culprits in that. I leave town to-morrow, Mr. Stirling, but return to the city late in October, and if your work and inclination favor it, I hope you will come to see me again?"
Peter looked at the silver and the china. Then he looked at Miss De Voe, so obviously an aristocrat.
"I shall be happy to," he said, "if, when you return, you will send me word that you wish to see me."
Miss De Voe had slightly caught her breath while Peter hesitated. "I believe he is going to refuse!" she thought to herself, a sort of stunned amazement seizing her. She was scarcely less surprised at his reply.
"I never ask a man twice to call on me, Mr. Stirling," she said, with a slight hauteur in her voice.
"I'm sorry for that," said Peter quietly.
Miss De Voe caught her breath again. "Good-afternoon," she said, holding out her hand. "I shall hope to see you."
"Good-bye," said Peter, and the next moment was walking towards his office.
Miss De Voe stood for a moment thinking. "That was curious," she thought, "I wonder if he intends to come?"
The next evening she was dining with relatives in one of the fashionable summering places, and was telling them about her call "from Mr. Stirling, the lawyer who made that splendid speech."
"I thought," she said, "when I received the message, that I was going to be buried under a bathos of thanks, or else have my gift declined with the expectation that I would gush over the disinterestedness of the refusal. Since I couldn't well avoid seeing him, I was quite prepared to snub him, or to take back the money without a word. But he wasn't a bit that kind of creature. He isn't self-assured nor tonguey—rather the reverse. I liked him so, that I forced him to stay to luncheon, and made him tell me a good deal about himself, without his knowing I was doing so. He leads a very unusual life, without seeming conscious that he does, and he tells about it very well. Uses just the right word every time, so that you know exactly what he means, without taxing your own brain to fill up blanks. He has such a nice voice too. One that makes you certain of the absolute truth underneath. No. He isn't good looking, though he has fine eyes, and hair. His face and figure are both too heavy."
"Is he a gentleman, cousin Anneke?" asked one of the party.
"He is a little awkward, and over-blunt at moments, but nothing to which one would give a second thought. I was so pleased with him that I asked him to call on me."
"It seems to me," said another, "that you are over-paying him."
"That was the most curious part," replied Miss De Voe. "I'm not at all sure that he means to come. It was really refreshing not to be truckled to, but it is rather startling to meet the first man who does not want to win his way to my visiting list. I don't think he even knows who Miss De Voe is."
"He will find out quick enough," laughed a girl, "and then he will do what they all do."
"No," said Miss De Voe. "I suspect it will make no difference. He isn't that kind, I think. I really am curious to see if I have to ask him a second time. It will be the only case I can remember. I'm afraid, my dears, your cousin is getting to be an old woman."
Peter, had in truth, met, and spent over four hours in the company of a woman whom every one wished to know. A woman equally famous for her lineage, her social position, her wealth and her philanthropy. It would not have made any difference, probably, had he known it, though it might have increased his awkwardness a little. That he was not quite as unconscious as Miss De Voe seemed to think, is shown by a passage in a letter he wrote to his mother:
"She was very much interested in the case, and asked a good many questions about it, and about myself. Some which I would rather not have answered, but since she asked them I could not bring myself to dodge them. She asked me to come and see her again. It is probably nothing but a passing interest, such as this class feel for the moment."—[Then Peter carefully inked out "such as this class feel for the moment," and reproved himself that his bitterness at—at—at one experience, should make him condemn a whole class]—"but if she asks me again I shall go, for there is something very sweet and noble about her. I think she is probably some great personage."
Later on in the letter he wrote:
"If you do not disapprove, I will put this money in the savings bank, in a special or trustee account, and use it for any good that I can do for the people about here. I gave the case my service, and do not think I am entitled to take pay when the money can be so much better employed for the benefit of the people I tried to help."
CHAPTER