“Indeed?” observed Bob. Of course if people were “divided,” that would make it more interesting for them. Give them something to talk about!
“The doctor agrees with the judge and Mrs. Vanderpool, but the bishop seems inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt,” went on Miss Gerald, her silvery tones as tranquil and cold as moonlight on the still surface of an inland sea. “He said something about inherited eccentricities, probably just beginning to crop out. Or suggested it might be—well, a pose.”
“Very nice of the bishop!” muttered Bob. “Benefit of the doubt? Quite so! Fine old chap!”
“Is that all you have to say?” said Miss Gerald, a faint note of scorn in her voice now. As she spoke she leaned slightly toward him. The moonlight touched the golden hair.
“Maybe he felt he had to differ,” remarked Bob, intent on the golden hair (it wasn’t golden out here, of course) and the stars beyond. “He might not really differ at heart, but he had to seem broad and charitable. Ecclesiastical obligation, or habit, don’t you see!”
“I don’t quite see,” said the girl, though her bright eyes looked capable of seeing a great deal.
“No?” murmured Bob. Some of that paradoxical happiness seemed to be fading from him. He couldn’t hold it; it seemed as elusive as moonshine. If only she would stand there silently and let him continue to worship her, like that devout lover in the song—in “distant reverence.” It wasn’t surely quite consistent for a goddess to be so practical and matter-of-fact.
“There are others who agree with the doctor and the judge and Mrs. Vanderpool,” continued the girl.
“You mean about my having a screw loose?”
“Exactly.” Crisply. “And some of them have consulted me.”