"You haven't answered me yet," said Sophy.
He gazed at her with a sort of braggadocio of defiance for an instant, then dropped his face into his hands again.
"Oh ... it's no use!..." he lamented. "We are low brutes ... men are low brutes.... Passion is a low thing...."
"No—real passion is not low," Sophy broke in on him.
"You know what I mean...." he muttered.
"Yes. I do. But don't call mere sensuality passion. Real passion is like a great, flowering tree. Its roots strike deep into the earth ... its crown is among the stars. Do you call a red rose 'low' because it springs from the earth?"
"How you catch one up!" protested Loring moodily.
She rushed on:
"I do hate so to hear that word misused—abused! Sensual fancies are low because they have no soul ... no flowering. They are like truffles ... all of the earth earthy. Yes ... there are truffle-loves," she ended bitterly.
"And men, you think, are like swine rooting for truffles!" he muttered.