your heart you know that the pale feeling you have for this boy is not love—not strong, passionate, mature love—the love that seizes and conquers, that takes one through heaven and through hell. Not many women are capable of such a love—they’re too cold, too selfish. But you’re capable of it, and when it comes to you, as I swear it shall come, you’ll not stop to question the past; you’ll look only toward the future—you’ll not stop to ask what the world thinks; you’ll heed only the longings of your own heart.”
She had sat spell-bound, gazing at him, chained by the sound of his voice, by his vehemence. She roused herself with an effort.
“If I should love,” she said, “I should at least choose a gentleman”
He interrupted with a dry laugh.
“There spoke the Philistine—the English variety! Your heart wasn’t in it! Let me tell you that you wouldn’t stop to ask what he was—he would be only the man you love. And have you chosen a gentleman? Does a gentleman listen at the turn of the stairs to a conversation not intended for him? He did listen; he told you of his ridiculous doubts of you. What right has he to doubt you, to make conditions, to demand explanations? Explanations from a woman like you!”
“He has a right”
“He has no right—he’s a beggar at your table! If he can’t hold you, it’s his fault, not yours. And he can’t hold you—he’s too weak every way! Ah, I could hold you!”
“Yes—perhaps even beat me!”
