"A most delightful abode for a romantic lover. But, as you do not believe in the attraction of gravitation, what have you to say about the attraction of love?"
"The attraction of love? Another of your delusions, Thomas. Now, if you had ever seen my definition of love, in the dictionary which I have in manuscript, and intend to publish some day when Noah Webster shall have become obsolete, you would not talk of attraction in that connection."
"What is your definition of love?"
"Love is a state of hostility between two persons of opposite sexes."
"Of hostility?"
"Yes; in which each belligerent endeavors to subjugate the other, regardless of the sufferings inflicted."
"This is as queer a paradox as that in relation to the possibility of a man falling upward."
"No paradox at all, but a most obvious truth. There is Claribel Carrington, who looks like an innocent and enchanting little fairy."
"She is superbly beautiful, and Clarence Hastings would barter his existence for a soft, kindly glance from her deep blue eye. They are in love with one another, that is evident."
"And being in love, hostilities have commenced; and, if I mistake not, the war will be conducted by the lady with unexampled barbarity. When we enter the ball-room to-night, you will perceive this angelic creature inflicting more torture on poor Clarence than a pitiless savage inflicts with his scalping-knife on his victim; and all because she is dead in love with him, and he with her."