He kisses her as he observes, "Put the strongest will into the crucible of love, and it melts like lead in a furnace. In such a test steel would become as pliant as running water. Love is the most intoxicating poison, my darling."
"I don't like the word," she says.
"The word 'darling'?" he inquires.
"No, the word 'poison.' Love is not a poison; it is an elixir." She winds her arms round his neck, and murmurs, "It has given me a new life. The world is more beautiful than it used to be I am sure."
He smiles at her sentiment. "I remember telling you once that you had a strong will of your own, Nelly."
"I haven't that much," she says, placing the nail of her thumb to the tip of her little finger. "Not that much!"
"But you are a cunning puss, for all that," he says, as he draws her face to his. They are in the cottage now, and she is sitting on his knee. "You want to fly away from the subject we were speaking of, so my strong will must bring you back to it. Well, I'll be content with a compromise. Who is this lover that so limits your knowledge?"
"I shall not tell you that, sir. You must guess it--if you can! As if you could! No, I'll not say! I can keep a secret. Oh, you may laugh, but I can!"
"Well, then, where is he?"
"Where? Why, thousands of miles away of course!"