"She asked for the name of my solemn friend."
"Anybody looks solemn beside you," Peter grumbled.
He resentfully examined his companion. Atterbury was roseate and sanguine; but he looked at Peter as gravely as he could.
"I hope you are not hankering after the admiration of Vivette," he said. "She isn't safe."
"What do you mean?" asked Peter.
"She looks upon everything nice in life as a sort of sugar-plum. If she likes you, Peter, she will eat you."
"You mean she is a wicked woman?"
"Not at all," twinkled Atterbury. "I mean she is a small child who happens to be greedy. She would think no more harm of making a hearty meal of your ingenuous self than I should of swallowing an oyster."
Vivette slipped from the imaginary door of a room that did not exist—they were rehearsing without scenery—and came to them before they were aware.