e turn of
your mind, by the way you've followed us up, all of us, from far back.
If an art's noble and beneficent one shouldn't be afraid to offer it
one's arm. Your cousin isn't: he can make sacrifices."

"My cousin?" Peter amazedly echoed. "Why, wasn't it only the other day
you were throwing his sacrifices in his teeth?"

Under this imputation on her straightness Miriam flinched but for an
instant. "I did that to worry _you_," she smiled.

"Why should you wish to worry me if you care so little about me?"

"Care little about you? Haven't I told you often, didn't I tell you
yesterday, how much I care? Ain't I showing it now by spending half the
night here with you--giving myself away to all those cynics--taking all
this trouble to persuade you to hold up your head and have the courage
of your opinions?"

"You invent my opinions for your convenience," said Peter all undaunted.
"As long ago as the night I introduced you, in Paris, to Mademoiselle
Voisin, you accused me of looking down on those who practise your art. I
remember how you came down on me because I didn't take your friend
Dashwood seriously enough. Perhaps I didn't; but if already at that time
I was so wide of the mark you can scarcely accuse me of treachery now."

"I don't remember, but I daresay you're right," Miriam coldly meditated.
"What I accused you of then was probably simply what I reproach you with
now--the germ at least of your deplorable weakness. You consider that we
do awfully valuable work, and yet you wouldn't for the world let people
suppose you really take our side. If your position was even at that time
so false, so much the worse for you, that's all. Oh it's refreshing,"
his formidable friend exclaimed after a pause during which Peter seemed
to himself to taste the full bitterness of despair, so baffled and
cheapened he intimately felt--"oh it's refreshing to see a man burn his
ships in a cause that appeals to him, give up something precious for it
and break with horrid timidities and snobberies! It's the most beautiful
sight in the world."

Poor Peter, sore as he was, and with the cold breath of failure in his
face, nevertheless burst out laughing at this fine irony. "You're
magnificent, you give me at this moment the finest possible illustration
of what you mean by burning one's ships. Verily, verily there's no one
like you: talk of timidity, talk of refreshment! If I had any talent for
it I'd go on the stage to-morrow, so as to sp