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. "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 last adventure, found in Vivette a pleasant holiday. Peter consented with Vivette to relieve the dignity and stress of life upon the heroic plane. He came to delight in the quick gleam of her eyes. The eyes of Vivette were brown, easily lighting, but shallow. They flickered into fun, and went suddenly out. They could never be passionate or deep, but they talked with him, and drew him to admire the play of her lips, slightly full, the life and light of her face; the sudden tale of her blood which came and went at a word or gesture. She did everything with an equal enthusiasm. She had the mimic soul to catch at every mood. She was born a player. Life was a quick succession of happy parts. She stepped from her rôle on the stage into the rôle she happened to be playing in the world.