'You are playing with me. You are wasting time.'
'Time was made for slaves, Tom,' said the lady, in a sweet girlish treble, 'and I am not a slave; neither are you. Sit down under this tree, and let us talk together quietly. Ah! how pleasant it is to speak to an Englishman again!'
'Vivien! are you mad?'
'Yes, I am mad, always mad, Tom; but madder than ever now. Be mad with me; you have no idea how delightful it is to live in a dream!'
'The dream will soon be over, my poor child. Do you think that you can tame men as you tame serpents?'
'Think? I am sure of it, Tom!'
'Then, if this is your dream, for heaven's sake awake! Good God! why do you look at me so?' cried the young fellow, in a sudden transport.
She was standing before him in the moonlight, her golden hair blown this way and that way with the wind, her eyes full of laughter, an expression half-mocking, half-pitiful, playing about her lips.
'Do you know how awful this time is?' he said. 'Are you human?'
She laughed. 'No,' she said, 'I don't think I am. Take my advice, Tom, and be inhuman too!'