In the following months Peter realised to what extent his late devotion to Lady Mary had filled him. Now that she was only one of his best friends, he was at first vacant of enthusiasm. Then he began to discover all kinds of neglected ties with people whom before he had hardly noticed. Ostensibly Lady Mary was still supreme, but, curiously as it seemed to Peter, though her sacrifice and the wonder of her great career set her higher in his admiration, it had made this admiration less tremulously personal. The ecstasy had gone out of it. It no longer shut out the undistinguished world. He discovered now that he had other friends; that he was liked by some of them; that their liking was gratifying and merited some small return.

Since Haversham had been claimed by his public and hereditary life, Peter had become attached to a frequent visitor at Arlington Street.

James Atterbury was a young and successful caricaturist who had also written and produced several plays. His activities were financially unnecessary, so that in a sense he was an amateur. He was socially popular, and Peter met him everywhere. Gradually he had taken Haversham\'s place. Like Haversham, he was tolerant and [Pg 279]urbane. He had long abandoned those visions which now were driving Peter restlessly from day to day. He was a cheerful man of pleasure, living for all that was agreeable and could be decently enjoyed. He had watched, with respectful irony, Peter\'s absorbed devotion to Lady Mary, and had keenly speculated as to how it would end. When the end came, Haversham plainly hinted that Atterbury would do well to help Peter recover an early interest in people and things.

"Certainly," Atterbury had said. "I\'m rehearsing a new play at the Vaudeville. Peter shall attend."

"Is that adequate, do you think?"

"Yes, Tony. Rehearsing a play is the most distracting thing in the world."

So Peter, plunged into a new atmosphere, sat for hours upon the small stage at the Vaudeville watching, with growing interest and amusement, the pulling together of a mixed company.

"It\'s like a children\'s party," Atterbury told him. "At present we are a little shy, but soon it will be a bear-garden. They will forget that I am the author, to be loved and respected. By the time we are ready for the public, I shan\'t be on speaking terms with anybody."

"Except Vivette," suggested Peter, looking towards Atterbury\'s principal lady.

"You\'ve noticed Vivette?"

"I\'ve noticed you always give way to her."

"Not always."

[Pg 280]

"Usually, then."

"Usually she is right. She is really improving my play."

Peter looked with greater interest at the vivacious young woman now holding the stage. She was full of vitality, which somehow she shared with all who acted with her. As soon as she left the stage, life went out of the performance.

"What is her name?" Peter asked.

"Formally you may call her Mademoiselle Claire."

"French?"

"Every country in the world."

At this point the rehearsal again became animated. Atterbury was soon fighting to be heard. The dispute was at last arranged, and he returned to Peter.

"Vivette has been looking at you, Peter," he said as the play began to go smoothly again.

"How do you know?"

"Because she has told me."

"What did she say?"

"She asked for the name of my solemn friend."

"Anybody looks solemn beside you," Peter grumbled.

He resentfully examined his companion. Atterbury was roseate and sanguine; but he looked at Peter as gravely as he could.

"I hope you are not hankering after the admiration of Vivette," he said. "She isn\'t safe."

"What do you mean?" asked Peter.

[Pg 281]

"She looks upon everything nice in life as a sort of sugar-plum. If she likes you, Peter, she will eat you."

"You mean she is a wicked woman?"

"Not at all," twinkled Atterbury. "I mean she is a small child who happens to be greedy. She would think no more harm of making a hearty meal of your ingenuous self than I should of swallowing an oyster."

Vivette slipped from the imaginary door of a room that did not exist—they were rehearsing without scenery—and came to them before they were aware.

"You have shocked your friend," she said to Atterbury, looking at Peter. Peter angrily composed his protesting face, as Atterbury presented him.

"Peter Paragon is easily shocked," Atterbury said. "I hope you did not hear what we were talking about?"

"No."

"It was harmless," Atterbury assured her.

"Do tell me," she pleaded. "I don\'t often hear anything harmless."

"Impossible."

"Wasn\'t it to do with oysters? Let\'s go to lunch. We shan\'t make any way this morning."

They lunched together. It was an agreeable triangle; but Atterbury, with amusement, saw he would soon be unnecessary. Peter, in reaction from the emotional strain of his las............