"I am not a typical man," retorted Atterbury. "My men are never typical," said Vivette. "I hate typical men. I'm sure Peter isn't typical." "He'll get there some day," Atterbury assured her. "Not as far as that," she quickly hoped. For the first time Peter detected a note of sincerity in her. He turned and found her jealously perusing him. He faintly coloured, and this time he really went. After he had left them, Vivette and Atterbury looked intelligently at one another. "I really mean it," she said at last. "I shouldn't like Peter to be a typical man." "It will depend on his luck." "You mean he must fall into the right hands?" "When he does fall." He looked at her keenly, and she coloured under his inspection. "He mustn't fall into the hands of a nasty woman," she said. "You would rather take him yourself?" Atterbury thoughtfully suggested. "Sometimes, Jimmy, you are too familiar." "I'm sorry," said Atterbury, beginning to look for his hat. "Let me thank you again for your beautiful acting. You saved my play to-night." XXXVIII In the coming months Peter met many of the friends of Vivette. He at once became enthusiastic, and insisted to Atterbury that they were much maligned by superior people. Atterbury agreed. "They're the best-hearted people in the world," he said--"quite perfect if you don't have to do business with them." "So genuine," Peter exclaimed. "Very genuine," Atterbury echoed. "They always mean what they say. Of course they never mean the same thing for two days. But that only makes them more interesting." He looked, as he said this, hard at Peter, and Peter flushed, knowing how justly he himself might be classed with enthusiastic people who change and range with the time. Why had he suddenly lost interest in the friends of Haversham and Lady Mary? He simply did not want to go on with them. He was caught up in this other set, and at heart he knew that his pleasure in these strangers was a dereliction. Their charm was superficial, their posturing was frequently half-bred. He realised that he was declining, through weariness, to a less excellent carriage of himself. He was unhappy and restless--tired enough to take and enjoy the second best. Atterbury's play lived through the summer and the autumn season. It outlived many great events--among them a general election which put in the Tories, and the marriage of Lady Mary with Lord Wenderby, then First Lord of the Admiralty. As Peter stood in St. Margaret's watching the ceremony he could hardly believe that he had ever had a part in this great affair. It seemed that lately he had gradually come down to a pleasant valley. It was incredible that he had ever breathed high air with the radiant woman who now was the wife of the most powerful man in England.