‘Hush! Have you forgotten that he has sold it to me?’
‘Then why did you mortgage it to Mr. Gurdon? Mr. Jones isn’t even allowed to attend the Sabbath.’
‘You are a little dense at times. Hasn’t it occurred to you that other people might share your sophisticated dislike for the Sabbath?’
‘You don’t attend the Sabbath either, if it comes to that.’
‘How do you know? Don’t try to put me in your pocket, Laura. You are not my only conquest, and I am not a human master to have favourites among my servants. All are souls that come to my net. I apologise for the pun, but it is apt.’
She had been rebuked, but she did not feel particularly abashed. It was true, then, what she had read of the happy relationship between the Devil and his servants. If Euphan Macalzean had rated him—why, so, at a pinch, might she. Other things that she had read might also be true, she thought, things that she had till now been inclined to reject. So easy-going a Master who had no favourites among his servants might in reality attend the Sabbath, might unbend enough to eat black-puddings at a picnic without losing his dignity.
‘That offensive young man at the Sabbath,’ she remarked, ‘I know he wasn’t you. Who was he?’
‘He’s one of these brilliant young authors,’ replied the Devil. ‘I believe Titus knows him. He sold me his soul on the condition that once a week he should be without doubt the most important person at a party.’
‘Why didn’t he sell his soul in order to become a great writer? Then he could have had the party into the bargain.’
‘He preferred to take a short-cut, you see.’