"But, Antony," she pleaded, "are you sure? Think what it means."
He hesitated a moment; then, taking her by the arms, he searched her face.
"Can you reasonably do this?" he asked.
"Reasonably?" she echoed.
"I mean, you are reasonably fond of Wenderby?"
"I trust him utterly."
"Then it is only Peter."
"Peter is my youth," she cried out, "and my right to be loved."
He felt her pain, and hated the influence he used.
"It is very difficult," he said in a low voice. "Are the things for which we stand worth while? Surely we must think that they are."