“No,” said I; “does any one?”
“Yes: I do. They were sex mysteries. The Ancient Greeks worshipped woman in the form of a goddess. They sacrificed to her. In those days they feared women, and they were continually trying to propitiate them. But since then they have tamed my sex. Only a few of us remain.”
“‘Us'?” I queried.
“Yes—the devastators—the women who have no use for a man once they have known him. You have heard of the marriage in the sky?”
I shook my head.
“The queen bee marries the best male of the hive high in the blue of heaven, out of sight. The ecstasy over, the male drops down to earth, dead. You will find it all in Fabre.”
“Yes? And then?”
“Nothing—that’s the end of it.”
“Was that the end of Walter?” I asked, goaded on by I know not what. And, as she did not reply, I added: “Is that to be the end of Lovelace? Is that why he is afraid of you? Do you carry about with you some evil spell?—some enchantment of death?”
She drew away from me a little and sat back in her chair.