"And what can I sell you to-day, my pretty lady?" he asked.
"Nothing, thank you," said Rose.
"Don't say that," said the pedlar. "You have dealt with me before, you know."
"Never," said Rose. "You are mistaken."
"Yes, you did," said the ugly old man stoutly. "You bought a packet of Amoricide, and those that deal with me once must deal with me again."
"What is Amoricide?" asked Rose, who began to have a feeling that after all she did recognise the pedlar's face.
"Well, well," said the pedlar, "that's telling. I don't mind owning that there is a lot of the Air of Superiority in it, and there are other things. You have no complaint to make about it, have you? It does its work all right. I guarantee that it will exterminate love absolutely. It is death to love. Have you not found it so?"
"I have found," said Rose, "that it has destroyed the love of others for me, but not the love of me for others."
The old man chuckled. "That's it. That's right. That's why the people who deal with me once must deal with me again. You must have one more little packet."
"This time I want to know what is in it."