"They were not cold wraiths, this man and woman. They were warm human.
They had no Saxon soberness in their blood. The colour of it was sunset-
red. They glowed with it. Temperamentally theirs was the French joy in
the flesh. They were idealists, but their idealism was Gallic. It was not
tempered by the chill and sombre fluid that for the English serves as
blood. There was no stoicism about them. They were Americans, descended
out of the English, and yet the refraining and self-denying of the English
spirit-groping were not theirs.

"They were all this that I have said, and they were made for joy, only they
achieved a concept. A curse on concepts! They played with logic, and this
was their logic.--But first let me tell you of a talk we had one night. It
was of Gautier's Madeline de Maupin. You remember the maid? She kissed
once, and once only, and kisses she would have no more. Not that she found
kisses were not sweet, but that she feared with repetition they would cloy.
Satiety again! She tried to play without stakes against the gods. Now
this is contrary to a rule of the game the gods themselves have made. Only
the rules are not posted over the table. Mortals must play in order to
learn the rules.

"Well, to the logic. The man and the woman argued thus: Why kiss once
only? If to kiss once were wise, was it not wiser to kiss not at all?
Thus could they keep Love alive. Fasting, he would knock forever at their
hearts.

"Perhaps it was out of their heredity that they achieved this unholy
concept. The breed will out and sometimes most fantastically. Thus in
them did cursed Albion array herself a scheming wanton, a bold, cold-
calculating, and artful hussy. After all, I do not know. But this I know: