"Of course I believe," she assured him.
Peter eagerly bent forward. "You remember," he said softly, "a night upon the terrace at Highbury?"
Lady Mary looked at him, terror waiting to spring at her heart.
"I hardly know," Peter continued, "whether I still believe all that I believed at Highbury. It is all too insolent, and some of it is foolish and cruel. I have seen ugly and brutal things. I am beginning to see that there are no classes. Rank is nothing at all. There are only people."
Why did he talk like that to-night? It was intolerable.
"You are wrong," she cried out. "Wealth is nothing, and there are bad shoots in an old tree. But there are men and women who must think and rule. It is their right."
"That may be only your beautiful dream."
"Peter," she called distressfully, "you don't know what you are saying."
He looked at her in wonder at the veiled agony of her voice. The pure white line of her face showed like stone in the shutting light. There was a short silence. Then Lady Mary spoke again:
"I want you to suppose something," she said urgently. "It is possible that I may be asked to make a sacrifice for this belief of mine. It will be painful for me and for my dearest friend."