"I can't thank you, dear, dear Miss Pinceney!" sobbed his daughter. "Peter, tell her for me how we shall both bless and love her all our lives for this!"
Peter's brain reeled. Was this Sophia's notion of getting him out of a difficulty?
As he gazed distractedly around, his eyes became fixed and glazed with a new terror. A stalwart stranger, with a bushy red beard, was coming towards him, with a stout riding-whip in his right hand. By his side walked the Manager, from whose face all vestige of friendliness had vanished.
"As soon as you have quite finished your conversation with these ladies," said the Manager, with iron politeness, "this gentleman would be glad of a few moments with you; after which I shall request your attention to a little personal affair of my own. Don't let us hurry you, you know!"
"I—I won't," returned Peter, flurriedly; "but I'm rather busy just now: a little later, I—I shall be delighted."
As he stood there, he was aware that they had withdrawn to a bench some distance away, where they conferred with the elderly lady
