"It goes flat in the glass."
"Just for a moment it's perfect."
"The present, I suppose, is all that matters?" said Peter, heavily censorious.
"Why not?" she slanted her amusement at Peter, and delicately crushed the bubbles of her wine.
"Have you ever taken anything seriously in your life?" asked Peter.
"I have never inquired."
Her eyes flickered. Their wavering light exasperated his desire to move her deeply, to hold for a moment her nimble spirit that ran at a touch like quicksilver. She felt his rising passion, and her mimic soul responded under the surface of her laughter. She did not stir when Peter came near and took her by the shoulders. Her eyes were still the familiar changing shallows. They raised in Peter an ambition to see them deepen and burn.
"I would like to see you really meaning something," he said, tightening his grip upon her. "You are only a reflection. I want to see your own light shining."
"Is this a poem, Peter? Or are you trying to save my soul?"