'I'm sorry Mrs Quaid doesn't like it,' Clare answered, 'because I like it so much. But perhaps I haven't studied it enough. I suppose your mamma has gone into it thoroughly.'
'Oh no, she wouldn't read it for the world.'
Clare felt Mrs Quaid's criticism to be less crushing than it might have been.
'One would have thought,' Cora went on, 'that "God and the State" would have been something very religious—something like Mr Gladstone, you know. A man oughtn't to call his book by a title that has nothing to say to the book itself. It's so misleading. Clare, I rather wonder Count Litvinoff should lend you such dreadful books.'
'I'm afraid Bakounin's not much like Mr Gladstone, dear, and I don't think I should care much about him if he were; but the title certainly has a great deal to do with the book. However, Bakounin has not converted me to his views. He is clever and trenchant, but—'
'I had done with that subject, my dear,' answered Miss Quaid, leaning over the arm of her easy-chair to look saucily into her friend's eyes, 'and had got to something much more interesting—the dashing Count, to wit.'
'He would be very much flattered to know that he inspires you with so much interest.'
'It is not I who am interested in him.'
'Who is interested in him?'
'Oh, neither of us—of course,' Cora answered; 'it is mamma and he who mutually attract each other. It is mamma he comes to see regularly three times a week. It is mamma who buries herself in his books and pamphlets. Seriously, Clare—how many of his books do you get through in a day?'