“You know,” said Melville, and would not look at her.
“I decline to know,” she said after a little pause.
“Besides—” he said.
“Yes?”
“You told Mrs. Bunting—” It occurred to him that he was telling tales, but that scruple came too late.
“Well?”
“Something about a soul.”
She made no immediate answer. He looked up and her eyes were smiling. “Mr. Melville,” she said, innocently, “what is a soul?”
“Well,” said my cousin readily, and then paused for a space. “A soul,” said he, and knocked an imaginary ash from his extinct cigarette.
“A soul,” he repeated, and glanced at Parker.