Colin gathered up his knees in his arms, his skin still shining with his bathe. What nonsense, as he often thought, were the English ideas of ‘class.’ Here was he, talking to his own valet on terms of perfect equality, and Nino accepting that as perfectly natural, though had Colin next moment said “Get me my shoes,” Nino would have jumped to his feet, his most obedient and respectful servant. These Southerners had fine breeding in their bones, whereas so many Englishmen of his own class had only got it on the skin. His brother Raymond, for instance, what a howling cad compared to Nino! Or Uncle Ronald last night, telling a smoking-room story, so that one really sickened at his grossness. Nino talking about the much more awful deeds of Tiberius was not gross at all. He was only gay. “Nino, why do we talk theology before breakfast?” he said. “We did yesterday, and here we are at it again to-day. I was very theological last night: I suppose that’s it, and this is an overflow.... But don’t you see that it’s diverting to defy Il Padre, and be rude?” “No, that is not diverting,” said Nino. “Well, everyone must go to the devil in his own way. So if I wanted you to do something wicked, which didn’t divert you, I suppose you would refuse?” “I shall always wish to please you,” said Nino. “Well, you can please me now. I want to hear about the Black Mass. I think it might make me happy. Have they a book? Have they a missal?” “Yes,” said Nino. “Nino, you’re rather annoying. You’re becoming serious.” Nino shook his head. “I have no use for it,” he said, “and indeed I know little of it. They have a book, there is a priest, but he must be one who has been turned out of his office. But where is the good of it all? It is enough for me to do what is diverting, and wipe my mouth after, till I want to be diverted again.” Colin reached out for a towel. The mere fact that Nino found something revolting in the idea of the Black Mass was naturally a reason for causing him to interest himself in it, but if he did not feel the fascination of defiance, he could be no true worshipper.... And somehow Nino was so perfectly delightful as he was: it might spoil the gaiety of his Paganism to tamper with his instincts. He only cared for diversion, there was no devotion about him.... “Nino, we’re wonderfully alike in some ways, as I’ve told you,” he said, “but we’re wonderfully different in this. I don’t believe you like hurting people, for instance. That’s where the difference lies.” “Not if I am fond of them; only when I hate them,” said Nino. “Oh, you’re no good,” said Colin. “Give me my shirt.” Nino scrambled to his feet, and held it up for him. “Have I displeased you?” he said. “No. You’re a nice boy, but I believe you want to go to heaven when you die.” “Sicuro,” said Nino. * * * * * Colin mentioned casually at breakfast that Pamela Hunt was arriving that afternoon.