of fools,--but love! No, Manella! There is no such thing!"

Here he gently took her two hands away from their tightly folded
position on her bosom and held them in his own.

"No such thing, my dear!" he went on, speaking softly and
soothingly, as though to a child--"Except in the dreams of poets,
and you--fortunately!--know nothing about poetry! The wild animal in
you is attracted to the tame, ruminating animal in me,--and you
would be my woman, though I would not be your man. I quite believe
that it is the natural instinct of the female to select her mate,--
but, though the rule may hold good in the forest world, it doesn't
always work among the human herd. Man considers that he has the
right of selection--quite a mistake of his I'm sure, for he has no
real sense of beauty or fitness, and generally selects most vilely.
All the same he is an obstinate brute, and sticks to his brutish
ideas as a snail sticks to its shell. _I_ am an obstinate brute!--I
am absolutely convinced that I have the right to choose my own
woman, if I want one--which I don't,--or if ever I do want one--
which I never shall!"

She drew her hands quickly from his grasp. There were tears in her
splendid dark eyes.

"You talk, you talk!" she said, with a kind of sob in her voice--"It
is all talk with you--talk which I cannot understand! I don't WANT
to understand!--I am only a poor, ignorant girl. I cannot talk--but
I can love! Ah yes, I can love! You say there is no such thing as
love! What is it then, when one prays every night and morning for a
man?--when one would work one's fingers to the bone for him?--when