"Osmond," he said, in a wistful eagerness, very beguiling, "whatever you did, I should believe in it."
Osmond looked at him with that faint sweet smile upon his face, and his eyes offered hints of ineffable meanings.
"Would you, boy?" he asked.
Peter went on. It was almost like a woman's confession of her love.
"Osmond, you say you think about your life when you are alone. What do you think?"
"I think it is full of passions as an egg is of meat. They have been growing while I ignored them. I saw them marching before me and round and round me. They thought they were my masters."
"What then?"
Osmond remembered how the morning seemed when he met Rose in the sunlight, and touched her hand.
"Then," he said gravely, "I was their master. That's all."
"Oh," said Peter exultingly, "you'd be the master in the end. You're great!"