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.
“Have I displeased you?” he said.
“No. You’re a nice boy, but I believe you want to go to heaven when you die.”
“Sicuro,” said Nino.
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.”