Page:Neith Boyce--The bond.djvu/118

116 had the cold aloof look that Basil dreaded. He came presently, and sat on the floor at her side, laying his head against her shoulder.

"Do you hate me?" he asked.

"Sometimes I hate all men."

"Oh, Teresa, you don't. That sounds like your aunt."

"Perhaps my aunt is right. I hate self-indulgent, sensual, self-satisfied men. I hate comfortable men—and you all try to be as much I that as you can."

"Why shouldn't we be as comfortable as we can—if it hurts nobody else? I don't understand you. I thought you believed in enjoying life in all possible ways. You"

"No, it's disgusting! Disgusting to have appetites, and coddle them as tenderly as if they were your children! It makes a man a ridiculous spectacle. I wish I knew one man who didn't care for physical pleasures—I wish I knew a good priest, or some man who was ascetic by choice, who lived hard, and worked hard—who had something besides himself to think about."

Basil raised his head, and looked at her in surprise. After a moment he said:

"There are plenty of men who live hard, and work hard—but generally because they must—in which case it's no virtue. As for the few who do it when they needn't, it's because they have