Three Weeks

"Paul--what do you know of lovers--or love?" she said. "My baby Paul!"

"I know enough to know I know nothing yet which is worth knowing," he said confusedly. "But--but--don't you understand, I want you to teach me--"

"You are so sweet, Paul! when you plead like that I am taking in every bit of you. In your way as perfect as this tiger. But we must talk--oh! such a great, great deal--first."

A rage of passion was racing through Paul, his incoherent thoughts were that he did not want to talk--only to kiss her--to devour her--to strangle her with love if necessary.

He bit the rose.

"You see, Paul, love is a purely physical emotion," she continued. "We could speak an immense amount about souls, and sympathy, and understanding, and devotion. All beautiful things in their way, and possible to be enjoyed at a distance from one another. All the things which make passion noble--but without love--which is passion-- these things dwindle and become duties presently, when the hysterical exaltation cools. Love is tangible--it means to be close--close-- to be clasped--to be touching--to be One!"

Her voice was low--so concentrated as to be startling in contrast to the drip of the rain outside, and her eyes--half closed and gleaming--burnt into his brain. It seemed as if strange flames of green darted from their pupils.

"But that is what I want!" Paul said, unsteadily.

"Without counting the cost? Tears and--cold steel--and blood!" she whispered. "Wait a while, beautiful Paul!"

He started back chilled for a second, and in that second she changed her position, pulling the cushions around her, nestling into them and drawing herself cosily up like a child playing on a mat in front of the fire, while with a face of perfect innocence she looked up as she drew one of her great books nearer, and said in a dreamy voice: "Now we will read fairy-tales, Paul."

But Paul was too moved to speak. These rapid changes were too much for him, greatly advanced though he had become in these short days since he had known her. He leant back in his chair, every nerve in his body quivering, his young fresh face almost pale.

"Paul," she cooed plaintively, "to-morrow I shall be reasonable again, perhaps, and human, but to-day I am capricious and wayward, and mustn't be teased. I want to read about Cupid and Psyche from this wonderful 'Golden Ass' of Apuleius--just a simple tale for a wet day--and you and--me!"