Pen refused to recognize his money. "Why haven't you the same incentive as other men?" she demanded to know.
"What are men's principal incentives?" he parried.
"Well, love, ambition, the desire to excel other men, I suppose."
"Yes, one could go far for love," he said with a sidelong look.
Pen without looking at him was aware of the look. She thought: "Men are funny! He's trying to make me philander with him in a crude way, and if I did he'd weary of me immediately!"
It was Riever's desire to shine in her eyes that frequently betrayed him. She was not impressed by his wealth; very well, he had to find some way of making himself out a remarkable figure. He presently said with a casual air:
Pen pricked up her ears. She answered as casually as he: "I always thought of hate as destroying a man instead of nerving him to do things."
"Not at all," he said. "Hate will carry a man as far as love--or farther." His feelings got the better of him. He forgot his casual air. "There's more in hate than love!" he went on with glittering eyes. "Men get tired of loving, but never of hating. There's more pleasure in hate because you never can entirely possess your lover, but you can destroy your enemy! ... Do I horrify you?" he asked with a sudden harsh laugh.
"Not in the least," said Pen coolly. "Nothing of that sort horrifies me, though I might have to make believe to be horrified."
"Not with me," he said, showing his yellow teeth.
"It is comfortable not to have to make pretenses," Pen said. That was as near as she could come to philandering.
"I believe you'd make a good hater," he hazarded.
"Maybe," said Pen. "I've never had the experience like you."
An instinct of caution occurred to him. "Oh, you mustn't take me too literally," he said laughing. "I haven't anybody to hate at present. But I have the capacity."
It was too late. His glittering eyes had reminded Pen of Don's phrase: a poisonous look. It was precious evidence to her heart, but unfortunately not the sort of evidence she could take into court.
She was reluctant to drop the subject of hatred. "The Borgias were good haters," she hazarded. "I lately read a story which told how Alexander Borgia caused a bed to be made for his enemies. It was so arranged that when a body warmed it it killed like a hammer-stroke."