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Rh not see how red my face is. If he only knew that I know the whole story, that I have been an eaves-dropper!

"You have not told me what you think of her," he says; "I want an answer."

"I am not fond of her," I say, slowly. "I would not trust her; she is rather cruel, but she could love well"

"And never be faithful," says Paul. "Well, you will be a woman some day, little one; shall I give you some advice? But no, you would not take it; you will fall in love like the rest, some day!"

"And why should I not?" I ask; "everybody does"

"Love," he says, "is made up of vanity and vexation, folly and bitterness; it turns to dust between the teeth."

"Your creed is a hard one," I say. "Now, I have seen some lovers (I think of Alice and Charles), who never have any of that; they are fair in each other's eyes, and though they squabble sometimes, they never think of using any of those long words you do; they positively would not understand them."

"Perhaps they are worthy of each other," he says. "When two people trust one another, then their love is a pleasant thing, a jewel. But if a man loves a woman, and she proves unworthy, and he loves her still, cannot you guess something of the battle that is fought in that man's soul—the higher nature crying, Desist! the lower, Yield! The indomitable will and self-respect of the man fighting against the quenchless passionate longing after the beauty of the woman he renounces the integrity of the mind warring against the heart that rises in fierce revolt against such sacrifice  the lily of renunciation against the crimson blossom of love  and the crowning sin and shame of it all must be that, while he knows her worthlessness, he cannot forget her—her sweet words and ways  her veil of rippling hair, her clinging lips  in these memories must lie that man's chief tortures "