Simon assumed an air of perplexity, and glanced cunningly from one guest to another. Presently he laughed outright.
“Why, the one who owed the most, of course.”
Reulah suppressed a giggle. By the expression of the others it was patent that to them also the jest appealed. Only Judas did not seem to have heard; he sat bolt upright, fumbling Mary with his violent eyes.
The Master made a gesture of assent, and turned to where Mary crouched. She was staring at him with that look which the magnetized share with animals.
“You see her?”
Straightening himself, he leaned on his elbow and scrutinized his host.
“Simon, I am your guest. When I entered here there was no kiss to greet me, there was no oil for my head, no water for my feet. But this woman whom you despise has not ceased to embrace them. She has washed them with her tears, anointed them with nard, and dried them with her hair. Her sins, it may be, are many, but, Simon, they are forgiven——”
Simon, Reulah, the others, muttered querulously. To forgive sins was indeed an attribute which no one, save the Eternal, could arrogate to himself.
“—for she has loved much.”
And turning again to Mary, who still crouched at his side, he added: