“It’s nothing more than tomfoolery,” he muttered.
“For shame!” was Sina’s indignant protest.
Yourii glanced in disgust at Ivanoff’s long, smooth hair and turned away.
“To take the case of Soloveitchik,” resumed Riasantzeff, and again his eyes twinkled. “I always thought him a nincompoop—a silly Jew boy. And now, see what he has shown himself to be! There is no love more sublime than the love which bids one sacrifice one’s life for humanity.”
“But he didn’t sacrifice his life for humanity,” replied Ivanoff, as he looked askance at Riasantzeff’s portly face and figure, and observed how tightly his waistcoat fitted him.
“Yes, but it’s the same thing, for if …”
“It’s not the same thing at all,” was Ivanoff’s stubborn retort, and his eyes flashed angrily. “It’s the act of an idiot, that’s what it is!”
His strange hatred of Soloveitchik made a most unpleasant impression upon the others.
Sina Karsavina, as she got up to go, whispered to Yourii, “I am going. He is simply detestable.”
Yourii nodded. “Utterly brutal,” he murmured.