His soul was arrested in
wonder. She was enkindled in her own living fire. Arrested in wonder
and in pure, perfect attraction, he moved towards her. She sat like a
strange queen, almost supernatural in her glowing smiling richness.
'The point about love,' he said, his consciousness quickly adjusting
itself, 'is that we hate the word because we have vulgarised it. It
ought to be prescribed, tabooed from utterance, for many years, till we
get a new, better idea.'
There was a beam of understanding between them.
'But it always means the same thing,' she said.
'Ah God, no, let it not mean that any more,' he cried. 'Let the old
meanings go.'
'But still it is love,' she persisted. A strange, wicked yellow light
shone at him in her eyes.
He hesitated, baffled, withdrawing.
'No,' he said, 'it isn't. Spoken like that, never in the world. You've
no business to utter the word.'
'I must leave it to you, to take it out of the Ark of the Covenant at
the right moment,' she mocked.
Again they looked at each other.
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