est agony is. You must need know the very finest of them. And your eyes! Oh, it's no matter why I'm in love with you. It's enough that I am. And if you married me I would make you happier than you are."
"I am not happy at all," said the man-devil. "I am merely contented."
"Contentment," I said, "in place of Happiness, is a horrid feeling. Not one of your countless advocates loves you. They all serve you faithfully and well, but with it all they hate you. Always people hate their tyrant. You are my tyrant, but I love you absorbingly, madly. Happiness for me would be to live with you and see you made happy by the overwhelming flood of my love."
"It interests me," he said. "You are a most interesting feminine philosopher—and your philosophy is after my own heart, in its lack of virtue. It is to be hoped you are not 'intellectual,' which is an unpardonable trait."
