“I can't believe it of him, Mr. Landover,” she said at last, in a slightly muffled voice.
“I thought it was understood you were to call me Abel, my dear.”
“If he did it deliberately,—and with that motive,—it was unspeakable,” she went on, a faint furrow appearing between her eyes.
“Of course, I may be wrong,” said he magnanimously. “It may have been the result of an honest, uncontrollable impulse. But I doubt it.”
“Men do queer, strange things when under the influence of a strong emotion,” she said, a hopeful note in her voice.
“True. They are also capable of doing very base things. You don't for an instant suspect Percival of being a religious fanatic, do you?”
“Please don't sneer. And what, pray, has religion to do with it?”
“I dare say Morris Shine is again lamenting the absence of a motion picture camera. He is always complaining about the chances he has missed to—”
“Stop!”
“Why, Ruth dear, I—”