“The Gospel of Youth and Gladness—” she began.
“I can’t claim Youth, but if you will marry me, I can Gladness!”
“And that the dead must bury their dead; and that you can’t put new wine in old bottles,” she went on.
The man’s face flushed and darkened. “Go on,” he said, “you are apt pupil for this deceiver! Try walking in the streets alone to-night and I’ll warrant an old bottle would be good protection for new wine gone to a girl’s head.”
“That money is the root of evil—”
“But very useful to spoiled brides,” he added bitterly.
“That children born of such union as you would force on me have teeth set on edge because their fathers have eaten sour grapes; that we must level up, not down; that the road to happiness is narrow as a razor; and that if we find the great pearl called love, we must not cast it before swine; and that is what I would be doing with your love—Thamyris—if I took it and gave none in return. I would be the Circe of your pagan gods turning your beautiful love into a thing for swine—”
In the growing dusk she could not see his face, but she felt the waves of his deep anger.
“Once more and for the last time, I ask you—is it yes or no, Thecla?”
“Dear Thamyris,” she pleaded, rising and laying her hand on his arm, “it must be no for your own sake.”