“Well, what if she is in love with me, as you call it. That makes her one of my worst enemies.”
“Oh, no! To love anybody is to be their best and biggest friend.”
“I grant if the love be disinterested; but then, how often is it so?”
“What does disinterested mean?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” he answered impatiently; “you must look it out in a dictionary.”
“I’m sorry,” Rosalie answered meekly, “but I thought disinterested meant unselfish—and I can’t understand love being anything else.”
“Can’t you? Then you have much to learn. Why do you love the Serpent?”
The question came with unexpected rapidity.
“I don’t. I—I—I—” Another pause upon the thrice repeated unlucky vowel—and Rosalie shivered from head to foot quite coldly.
“Is this an attempt at fascination?”