“There is something in that,” he admitted. “It would be a great work, a little difficult, you know.”
“All the more interesting!”
“You see,” he continued, “I am not only bad, but I admire badness. My wish is to remain bad—in fact, I should like to be worse if I knew how. You would find it hard to make a start. I couldn’t even admit that a state of goodness was desirable!”
She looked at him curiously. The night air was perhaps getting colder, for she shivered, and drew the rug a little closer around her.
“You speak like a prophet,” she remarked.
“A prophet of evil then!”
She looked at him steadfastly. The lightness had gone out of her tone.
“Do you know,” she said, “I am almost sorry that I ever knew you?”
He shook his head.
“You can’t mean it,” he declared.