“‘Very well indeed’!” Satan threw out his hands in a farcical gesture of despair. “What man who shaves his beard to please a woman ever really pleases her?”
“To please me, Your Lowness?”
“Sin’s idea. That silhouette you drew of your pet philanthropist shows you to have preconceived ideas of the looks of latter-day devils. I haven’t spent centuries catering to human preconceptions for nothing. Presto, even John Cabot’s crime toward you is no blacker than my cut-faced clothes! My tie is a bit off—that is on—color, as it were. But I notice that no man is held accountable for his taste in cravats. Maybe I was dressed like a character part.”
With the frank self-appreciation of a husband who has just been hectored into an evening suit by his wife, he turned for a critical survey of her appearance.
“Glad to see you looking fit to go out with me,” he approved. “I have planned to take you to a show.”
“To hear you preach?” She put the assumption rather eagerly. “I am so glad. I have hoped each night you would take me. Frequently when hearing you talk, I have wondered whether you would—whether you wouldn’t——”
She faltered at his look of amazement.
“If I wouldn’t just what, child?” he encouraged with all the unctuous kindliness of the Rev. Dr. Alexander Willard.
“Wouldn’t teach me the Scriptures. You seem to know them by heart.”
“By head, not by heart. There’s a difference, you know. Ingersoll knew them by head.” Satan’s chuckles began with contemplation of her idea. “Really, you are either the most naïve or the most intriguing of lost souls.”