Despite his intention, Guy had warmed to the argument, and he awoke a corresponding earnestness in his companion.
"I don't think I should," she said quietly. "I should pity her too much."
"But why?" he asked. "She would merely have shown herself to have the courage of her desires."
Meriel shook her head. "I always pity people who cannot control their desires, particularly when those desires are for things that don't belong to them."
"But," urged Guy, "everyone is born with the right to enjoy. That fat old woman has long ago ceased to find enjoyment in many of her trinkets. Why pity anyone who would at one stroke relieve her of her burden and at the same time provide themselves with a new pleasure?"
Meriel knitted her brows. "I'm no good at an ethical argument, Mr. Hora," she said. "And I am quite sure you only want to get me to agree with you so that you may laugh at me afterwards."
"No," he answered. "I've no arrière pensée of the sort you imagine. I know you would think it wrong, the majority think it wrong for anyone to help themselves to other people's things. I want to know why."
Meriel looked at him archly. "Suppose I were to slip behind that comfortable old lady and snip off that little watch all studded with diamonds from her chatelaine, what would you think of me?"
"I wish to Heaven you would," he answered.
Meriel laughed. "I should never have thought that you could be so strongly provoked by mere ostentation."