CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE HERMITAGE.
It is not to be supposed from this last reflection of ours, that Leonorewas not heart-whole. Leonore had merely had a few true friends, owing toher roving life, and at seventeen a girl craves friends. When,therefore, the return to America was determined upon, she had at oncedecided that Peter and she would be the closest of friends. That shewould tell him all her confidences, and take all her troubles to him.Miss De Voe and Dorothy had told her about Peter, and from theirdescriptions, as well as from her father's reminiscences, Leonore hadconcluded that Peter was just the friend she had wanted for so long.That Leonore held her eyes down, and tried to charm yet tantalize herintended friend, was because Leonore could not help it, being onlyseventeen and a girl. If Leonore had felt anything but a friendlyinterest and liking, blended with much curiosity, in Peter, she neverwould have gone to see him in his office, and would never have talkedand laughed so frankly with him.
As for Peter, he did not put his feelings into good docketed shape. Hedid not attempt to label them at all. He had had a delicious half-houryesterday. He had decided, the evening before, that he must see thoseslate-colored eyes again, if he had to go round the world in pursuit ofthem. How he should do it, he had not even thought out, till the nextmorning. He had understood very clearly that the owner of thoseslate-colored eyes was really an unknown quantity to him. He hadunderstood, too, that the chances were very much against his caring topursue those eyes after he knew them better. But he was adamant that hemust see those eyes again, and prove for himself whether they were butan _ignis fatuus_, or the radiant stars that Providence had cast for thehoroscope of Peter Stirling. He was studying those eyes, with theirconcomitants, at the present time. He was studying them very coolly, tojudge from his appearance and conduct. Yet he was enjoying the study ina way that he had never enjoyed the study of somebody "On Torts."Somebody "On Torts," never looked like that. Somebody "On Torts," neverhad luck-pieces, and silk ribbons. Somebody "On Torts," never wroteletters and touched the end of pens to its lips. Somebody "On Torts,"never courtesied, nor looked out from under its eyelashes, nor calledhim Peter.
While this investigation had been progressing, Watts had looked at theshelf of law books, had looked out of the window, had whistled, and hadyawned. Finally, in sheer _ennui_ he had thrown open a door, and lookedto see what lay beyond.
"Ha, ha!" he cried. "All is discovered. See! Here sits Peter Stirling,the ward politician, enthroned in Jeffersonian simplicity. But here,behind the arras, sits Peter Stirling, the counsellor of banks andrailroads, in the midst of all the gorgeousness of the golden East."Watts passed into the room beyond.
"What does he mean, Peter?"
"He has gone into my study. Would you like--"
He was interrupted by Watts calling, "Come in here, Dot, and see how theunsociable old hermit bestows himself."
So Leonore and Peter followed Watts's lead. The room into which theywent was rather a curious one. It was at least twenty-five feet square,having four windows, two looking out on Broadway, and two on the sidestreet. It had one other door besides that by which they had entered.Here the ordinary quality ended. Except for the six openings alreadynoted and a large fireplace, the walls were shelved from floor toceiling (which was not a low one), with dusky oak shelving. The ceilingwas panelled in dark oak, and the floor was covered with a smoothsurface of the same wood. Yet though the shelves were filled with books,few could be seen, for on every upright of the shelving, were severalframes of oak, hinged as one sees them in public galleries occasionally,and these frames contained etchings, engravings, and paintings. Somewere folded back against the shelves. Others stood out at right anglesto them and showed that the frames were double ones, both sidescontaining something. Four easy-chairs, three less easy chairs, and alarge table desk, likewise of dusky oak were the sole other fittings ofthe room, if we except two large polar bear skins.
"Oh," cried Leonore looking about, "I'm so glad to see this. People havetold me so much about your rooms. And no two of them ever agreed."
"No," said Peter. "It seems a continual bone of contention with myfriends. They scold me because I shelved it to the ceiling, because Iput in one-colored wood, because I framed my pictures and engravingsthis way, and because I haven't gone in for rugs, and bric-a-brac, andthe usual furnishings. At times I have really wondered, from theirdetermination to change things, whether it was for them to live in, orfor my use?"
"It is unusual," said Leonore, reluctantly, and evidently selecting aword that should not offend Peter.
"You ought to be hung for treating fine pictures so," said Watts.
"I had to give them those broad flat mats, because the books gave nobackground."
"It's--it's--" Leonore hesitated. "It's not so startling, after amoment."
"You see they had to hang this way, or go unhung. I hadn't wall spacefor both pictures and books. And by giving a few frames a turn,occasionally, I can always have fresh pictures to look at."
"Look here, Dot, here's a genuine Rembrandt's 'Three Crosses,'" calledWatts. "I didn't know, old man, that you were such a connoisseur."
"I'm not," said Peter. "I'm fond of such things, but I never should havehad taste or time to gather these."
"Then how did you get them?"
"A friend of mine--a man of exquisite taste--gathered them. He lost hismoney, and I bought them of him."
"That was Mr. Le Grand?" asked Leonore, ceasing her study of the "ThreeCrosses."
"Yes."
"Mrs. Rivington told me about it."
"It must have been devilish hard for him to part with such acollection," said Watts.
"He hasn't really parted with them. He comes down here constantly, andhas a good time over them. It was partly his scheme to arrange them thisway."
"And are the paintings his, too, Peter?"
Peter could have hugged her for the way she said Peter. "No," he managedto remark. "I bought some of them, and Miss De Voe and Lispenard Ogdenthe others. People tell me I spoil them by the flat framing, and theplain, broad gold mats. But it doesn't spoil them to me. I think themixture of gold mats and white mats breaks the monotony. And thevariation just neutralizes the monotone which the rest of the room has.But of course that is my personal equation."
"Then this room is the real taste of the 'plain man,' eh?" inquiredWatts.
"Really, papa, it is plain. Just as simple as can be."
"Simple! Yes, sweet simplicity! Three-thousand-dollar-etchingsimplicity! Millet simplicity! Oh, yes. Peter's a simple old dog."
"No, but the woodwork and the furniture. Isn't this an enticing chair? Imust try it." And Leonore almost dissolved from view in its depths.Peter has that chair still. He would probably knock the man down whooffered to buy it.
It occurred to Peter that since Leonore was so extremely near theground, and was leaning back so far, that she could hardly help but belooking up. So he went and stood in front of the fireplace, and lookeddown at her. He pretended that his hands were cold. Watts perhaps wasright. Peter was not as simple as people thought.
It seemed to Peter that he had never had so much to see, all at once, inhis life. There were the occasional glimpses of the eyes (for Leonore,in spite of her position, did manage to cover the larger part of them)not one of which must be missed. Then there was her mouth. That wouldhave been very restful to the eye; if it hadn't been for the distractingchin below it. Then there were the little feet, just sticking out fromunderneath the tailor-made gown, making Peter think of Herrick's famouslines. Finally there were those two hands! Leonore was very deliberatelytaking off her gloves. Peter had not seen those hands ungloved yet, andwaited almost breathlessly for the unveiling. He decided that he mustwatch and shake hands at parting before Leonore put those gloves onagain.
"I say," said Watts, "how did you ever manage to get such a place here?"
"I was a tenant for a good many years of the insurance company that ownsthe building, and when it came to rebuild, it had the a
rchitect fit thisfloor for me just as I wished it. So I put our law-offices in front andarranged my other rooms along the side street. Would you like to seethem?" Peter asked this last question very obviously of Leonore.
"Very much."
So they passed through the other door, to a little square hall, lightedby a skylight, with a stairway going up to the roof.
"I took the upper floor, so as to get good air and the view of the cityand the bay, which is very fine," Peter said. "And I have a staircase tothe roof, so that in good weather I can go up there."
"I wondered what the great firm was doing up ten stories," said Watts.
"Ogden and Rivington have been very good in yielding to myidiosyncracies. This is my mealing closet."
It was a room nine feet square, panelled, ceiled and floored inmahogany, and the table and six chairs were made of the same material.
"So this is what the papers call the 'Stirling political incubator?' Itdoesn't look like a place for hatching dark plots," said Watts.
"Sometimes I have a little dinner here. Never more than six, however,for it's too small."
"I say, Dot, doesn't this have a jolly cosy feeling? Couldn't one sithere blowy nights, with the candles lit, eating nuts and tellingstories? It makes me think of the expression, 'snug as a bug.'"
"Miss Leroy told me, Peter, what a reputation your dinners had, and howevery one was anxious to be invited just once," said Leonore.
"But not a second time, old man. You caught Dot's inference, I hope?Once is quite enough."
"Peter, will you invite me some day?"
"Would he?" Peter longed to tell her that the place and everything itcontained, including its owner--Then Peter said to himself, "You reallydon't know anything about her. Stop your foolishness." Still Peter knewthat--that foolishness was nice. He said, "People only care for mydinners because they are few and far between, and their being way downhere in the city, after business hours, makes them something to talkabout. Society wants badly something to talk about most of the time. Ofcourse, my friends are invited." Peter looked down at Leonore, and sheunderstood, without, his saying so, that she was to be a future guest.
"How do you manage about the prog, chum?"
"Mr. Le Grand had a man--a Maryland darky--whom he turned over to me. Helooks after me generally, but his true forte is cooking. For oysters andfish and game I can't find his equal. And, as I never attempt veryelaborate dinners, he cooks and serves for a party of six in very goodshape. We are not much in haste down here after six, because it's sostill and quiet. The hurry's gone up-town to the social slaves. Supposeyou stay and try his skill at lunch to-day? My partners generally arewith me, and Jenifer always has something good for them."
"By all means," said Watts.
But Leonore said: "No. We mustn't make a nuisance of ourselves the firsttime we come." Peter and Watts tried to persuade her, but she was notpersuadable. Leonore had no intention, no matter how good a time itmeant, of lunching sola with four men.
"I think we must be going," she said.
"You mustn't go without seeing the rest of my quarters," said Peter,hoping to prolong the visit.
Leonore was complaisant to that extent. So they went into the pantry,and Leonore proceeded, apparently, to show her absolute ignorance offood matters under the pretext that she was displaying greathousekeeping knowledge. She told Peter that he ought to keep hischampagne on ice. "That champagne will spoil if it isn't kept on ice."She complained because some bottles of Burgundy had dust on them."That's not merely untidy," she said, "but it's bad for the wine. Itought to be stood on end, so that the sediment can settle." Shecriticised the fact that a brace of canvas-backs were on ice. "All yourgame should be hung," she said. She put her finger or her eyes intoevery drawer and cupboard, and found nothing to praise. She wasabsolutely grave over it, but before long Peter saw the joke and enteredinto it. It was wonderful how good some of the things that she touchedtasted later.
Then they went into Peter's sleeping-room, Leonore said it was veryordinary, but promptly found two things to interest her.
"Do you take care of your window flowers?"
"No, Mrs. Costell comes down to lunch with me once a week, and potterswith them. She keeps all the windows full of flowers--perhaps you havenoticed them in the other rooms, as well?"
"Yes. I liked them, but I didn't think they could be yours. They growtoo well for a man."
"It seems as if Mrs. Costell had only to look at a plant, and it breaksout blossoming," Peter replied.
"What a nice speech," said Leonore.
"It's on a nice subject," Peter told her. "When you have that, it's veryeasy to make a nice speech."
"I want to meet Mrs. Costell. I've heard all about her."
The second point of interest concerned the contents of what hadevidently been planned as an umbrella-stand.
"Why do you have three swords?" she asked, taking the handsomest fromits resting place.
"So that I can kill more people."
"Why, Dot, you ought to know that an officer wants a service sword and adress-sword."
"But these are all dress-swords. I'm afraid you are very proud of yourmajorship."
Peter only smiled a reply down at her.
"Yes," said Leonore, "I have found out your weakness at last. You likegold lace and fixings."
Still Peter only smiled.
"This sword is presented to Captain Peter Stirling in recognition of hisgallant conduct at Hornellsville, July 25, 1877," Leonore read on thescabbard. "What did you do at Hornellsville?"
"Various things."
"But what did you do to get the sword?"
"My duty!"
"Tell me?"
"I thought you knew all about me."
"I don't know this."
Peter only smiled at her.
"Tell me. If you don't, somebody else will. Please."
"Why, Dot, these are all presentation swords."
"Yes," said Peter; "and so gorgeous that I don't dare use them. I keepthe swords I wear at the armory."
"Are you going to tell me what you did to get them?"
"That one was given me by my company when I was made captain. That wassubscribed for by some friends. The one you have was given me by arailroad."
"For what?"
"For doing my duty."
"Come, papa. We'll go home."
Peter surrendered. "There were some substitutes for strikers in freightcars that were fitted up with bunks. The strikers fastened the doors onthem, and pushed them into a car-shed."
"And what did you do?"
"We rolled the cars back."
"I don't think that was much. Nothing to give a sword for. Now, have youanything more to show us?"
"No. I have a spare room, and Jenifer has a kitchen and sleeping placebeyond, but they are not worth showing."
They went out into the little square hall, and so into the study.Leonore began unfolding her gloves.
"I've had a very nice time," she said. "I think I shall come again veryoften, I like down-town New York." Leonore was making her first trip toit, so that she spoke from vast knowledge.
"I can't tell you how pleasant it has been to me. It isn't often thatsuch sunshine gets in here," said Peter.
"Then you do prefer sunshine to grimy old law books?" inquired Leonore,smiling demurely.
"Some sunshine," said Peter, meaningly.
"Wherever there has been sunshine there ought to be lots of flowers. Ihave a good mind--yes, I will--leave you these violets," Leonore took alittle bunch that she had worn near her throat and put them and her handin Peter's. And she hadn't put her glove on yet! Then she put her gloveson, and Peter shook hands. Then he remembered that he ought to see themto the elevator, so he took them out--and shook hands again. After thathe concluded it was his duty to see them to the carriage--and he shookhands again.
Peter was not an experienced hand, but he was doing very well.