It was then I first knew how beautiful she was, and that her beauty
made a certain difference to my mood. The next step may seem a big
one, but, I believe, is very natural: her physical beauty gave me
definite pleasure. And the instant this change occurred she was aware
of it. The curious fact, however, is that, although aware of this
gain of power, she made no direct use of it at first. She did not draw
this potent weapon for my undoing; it was ever with her, but was ever
sheathed. Did she discern my weakness, perhaps, and know that the
subtle power would work upon me most effectively if left to itself?
Did she, rich in experience, deem that its too direct use might waken
a reaction in my better self? I cannot say, I do not know. . . . Every
feminine art was at her disposal, as every use of magic pertaining to
young and comely womanhood was easily within her reach. As you and I
might express it bluntly, she knew men thoroughly, she knew every
trick; she drew me on, then left me abruptly in the wrong, puzzled,
foolish, angry, only to forgive me later with the most enchanting
smile or word imaginable. But never once did she deliberately make
use of the merciless weapon of her physical beauty although--perhaps
because--she knew that it was the most powerful in all her armoury.

For listen to this: when at last I took her in my arms with passion
that would not be denied, she actually resented it. She even sought
to repel me from her touch that had undone me. I repeat what I said
before: She did not wish to win me in that way. The sigh of happiness
she drew in that moment--I can swear to it--included somewhere, too,
the pain of bitter disappointment.

The weapon, however, that she did use without hesitation was her
singing. There was nothing special either in its quality or skill; it
was a voice untrained, I believe, and certainly without ambition; her