He cursed softly. She had not known he could be so moved.
"Poor child, let me talk with you."
He led her back to a chair almost with kindness and sat somewhat behind her so that he need not meet her eyes.
"This love you wait for—it is not a full-grown god, dear girl, but a blind child. Given a man and a woman and a certain propinquity, and nature does the rest. We put a mask on nature and call it love, we name an abstraction and call it God. Love! Love! Love! It is a pretty disguise—no more. Do you understand?"
"I will not."
She listened to his quick breathing.
"Bertha, if I were to chain you with a ten-foot chain to the first man off the streets and leave you alone with him for three days, what would happen?"
Her hand closed on the arm of the chair. He rose and paced the room as his idea grew.
"Your eyes would criticize him and your shame would fight in behalf of your—soul? And the sight of your shame would keep the man in check. But suppose the room were dark—suppose you could not see his face and merely knew that a man was there—suppose he could not see and merely knew that a woman was there? What would happen? Would it be love? Pah! Love is no more deified than hunger. If it is satisfied, it goes to sleep; if it is satiated, it turns to loathing. Aye, at the end of the three days you would be glad enough to have the ten-foot chain cut. But first what would happen?"
The vague terror grew coldly in her, for she could see the idea taking hold of him like a hand.