Colin reached out for a towel. The mere fact that Nino found something revolting in the idea of the Black Mass was naturally a reason for causing him to interest himself in it, but if he did not feel the fascination of defiance, he could be no true worshipper.... And somehow Nino was so perfectly delightful as he was: it might spoil the gaiety of his Paganism to tamper with his instincts. He only cared for diversion, there was no devotion about him....
“Nino, we’re wonderfully alike in some ways, as I’ve told you,” he said, “but we’re wonderfully different in this. I don’t believe you like hurting people, for instance. That’s where the difference lies.”
“Not if I am fond of them; only when I hate them,” said Nino.
“Oh, you’re no good,” said Colin. “Give me my shirt.”
Nino scrambled to his feet, and held it up for him.
“No. You’re a nice boy, but I believe you want to go to heaven when you die.”
Colin mentioned casually at breakfast that Pamela Hunt was arriving that afternoon.
“She telephoned this morning,” he said. “So of course I said we should be delighted. I forget if you know her, Vi.”
He, Violet and Aunt Hester were the only three down yet. The latter looked up from her well-furnished plate, for Aunt Hester always had a fine appetite for breakfast, and couldn’t bear the silly rubbish of those who said they were better without. Whether Violet knew her or not, it was evident that Aunt Hester knew something about her....
“Pamela Hunt coming here!” she said. “Well, I never!”
Colin turned to her with his most radiant smile.
“What is it that you ‘don’t ever,’ Aunt Hester?” he said.
Lady Hester returned to her plate. She had no desire to make mischief, but really, the way Pamela Hunt had run after Colin, and his perfect readiness to be caught!... They were always together: the whole world noticed it.
“Well, I hope we shall have a fine Sunday,” she said.
Colin, shooting a glance at Violet, saw that her attention had been aroused. Probably it could not fail to be aroused when Pamela arrived, but what on earth had that to do with this old Victorian creature, whose morals, as everybody knew, had been of the most indulgent order in her own affairs? Her old age and her wit had begun to whitewash her now, but it was a little too much that she should wish to change her name to Mrs. Grundy. It wasn’t nearly such a pretty name as Hester Brayton, nor did she look the part. However, he would deal with that soon.