So they had turned with more success to her character, and
proceeded there with their work of destruction. Her beauty they left
unquestioned.
Travers often asked himself--and asked himself especially on this
afternoon--why, apart from practical considerations, he had not fallen
in love with her instead of Lois. He liked beautiful women, as he
liked all beautiful things, and Lois had no real pretensions to
beauty. Was it, perhaps, as he had said, that her honesty and genuine
heart-goodness had drawn him to her? Of course he had pretended that
it was so. He knew that, in company with all true women, she was
susceptible to that form of flattery where other compliments merely
disgusted, and he had made good use of his knowledge. He had often
laughed to himself at the feminine craze for salvaging lost souls, but
he had never taken it seriously, not even with Lois. Was there any
truth in the assertions that he had made to her, more than he knew?
The idea amused him immensely, and also drew his attention back to his
previous conversation with Beatrice Cary. He shook his head
whimsically in the direction she had taken.
"I don't care what you say," he thought, "you are getting a
conscience. Now, I wonder whom you caught it from? Not from me, I'll
be bound."
He laughed out loud, and shaking himself up from his half-lounging
attitude against the window casement, he proceeded to follow in
Beatrice's footsteps.
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