“That is the union of souls!” exclaimed Helena, glad to have successfullly navigated the dangerous cliffs.
“It is the harmony of souls of which Plato speaks. It is true marriage as I have sometimes visualised it in my dreams, but which, unfortunately, I shall hardly be able to realise in actuality.”
Helena stared at the ceiling and whispered:
“Why shouldn’t you, one of the elect, realise this dream?”
“Because she to whom my soul is drawn with irresistible longing does not believe in—h’m—love.”
“You cannot be sure of that.”
“Even if she did, she would always be tormented by the suspicion that the feeling was not sincere. Moreover, there is no woman in the world who would fall in love with me, no, not one.”
“Yes, there is,” said Helena, gazing into his glass eye. (He had a glass eye, but it was so well made, it was impossible to detect it.)
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure,” replied Helena. “For you are different to other men. You realise what spiritual love means, the love of the souls!”