Clearly she was now in earnest. Even Peter might have found her adequate. But he had now committed himself deeply to the proof he required. He knew it was at bottom indefensible--that he was merely trying to build a refuge for his self-respect. "If you really cared for me," he persisted, "you would not refuse to marry me." "Marriage is not my way," she protested. "I ask you with my whole soul." "Your whole soul?" She smiled a little, but added gravely: "You make things very difficult. This shows how badly you want to be looked after." "What do you mean?" "Don't you see how easily I might play up to you? Do you think it would be very difficult for an actress like me to love you 'with my whole soul' and win you altogether on my own terms?" "You mean," Peter flashed at her, "that you might easily pretend." "It would not be difficult," she said, a little sadly. Vivette was feeling unlike herself. She was now unselfishly solicitous for Peter. She saw how helpless he was, restless and curious of life, ever more firmly held by one idea. She pictured him falling to some woman, hot and unscrupulous, who would coarsely tear the veil he fastidiously desired to lift, and for ever destroy for him the nobility of passion. But Peter cut into her thoughts. "Are you changing your mind?" he asked abruptly. "No, Peter. I am only thinking." "Then it is good-bye." He moved towards the door. Vivette saw him passing out of her keeping. She saw him stumbling forward to disillusion and possible disgust. She could not let him go like that. She was zealous that his adventure should not end wholly in disaster. Out of sudden pity she called to him. "Peter!" He paused at the door but did not turn. She collected her courage. Surely it would be better for Peter, then and there, to end. Her spirit was alive to him. It would be an episode, but it would not be sordid. She saw a hundred ways in which Peter might fare so immeasurably worse. For an instant she shrank from the ordeal. She would have to sink her pride and solicit him. It was a bitter part for Vivette. The words dropped from her low and quiet. "You may stay with me to-night." Peter turned uncertainly. She saw his face like a beaten flame. He had yet to realise what she was saying. "We are alone, Peter. You may stay with me here. I ask you to stay." Now the flame spread in his face unchecked. She had dropped the veil, and he was driven towards her. "You can do this, Vivette, and yet you will not marry me." "To-night." "For ever." "For ever a memory--with nothing to regret." Peter desperately kissed her, but with his climbing luxury his will climbed also, and his spirit cried out again for a justification. Like a refrain he repeated: "This means you will marry me." "No." He returned wearily to his point. "You do not care enough," he persisted. "You tell me that," she cried, "after what I have said to you!"