“Did you think it a wilful deception, or that he was simply mistaken?”
She turned and saw upon his face an amused smile, half triumphant yet good-humored. She lowered her eyes to the bronze ornament on the table that was slowly revolving between her fingers. “Am I so incapable of believing good of others?”
“Certainly not! But when I saw you last I suffered from an unpleasant belief that neither the Devil nor myself were objects of your adoration. So I took the liberty of putting one or two things together, and decided that the faithful Bennett might have honored me by a mention.”
“Why suspect Mr. Bennett of such a thing?”
“Well, partly because he is a vindictive and unscrupulous liar, and partly because he is the only enemy I saw there.”
This was said gently, in his usual low voice, with perfect calmness, and it was said amiably, as if sympathizing with an unfortunate friend.
“You seem able to meet him on his own ground.”
“Oh, no! There is all the difference in the world.”
She looked toward him interrogatively, but with an expression that plainly indicated a difference of opinion. He continued in the same tone, with no sign of animosity: “The difference is this, that he tells others what he never tells me. I tell others his mind is filthy and his spirit is mean; that he is without honor and that he is a liar, but I also tell him.”
“You have told him that?”