"And is there no creator?" Marion asked.
"None but love. Love is the symbolism of the creative power; love is God."
Marion laughed; his theory was too absurd to be taken seriously, but somehow it pleased her. "Have you felt this irresistible love power?" she asked.
"I must first find my affinity," he replied evasively.
"Have you not met her yet?" said Marion, looking up with an air of astonishment.
Duncan's eyes quickly caught her glance. "I think I have," he replied in a way that was at once bold, insinuating, and tender. Marion turned her head away quickly and a tinge of color came into her cheeks. It was resentment, but somehow a sense of pleasure tingled amid the anger. "You are an enigma," she said, ashamed at having colored. "I thought you were a cynical speculator, but now you seem a fanciful dreamer."
"You must guess again," he replied. "I am neither a cynic nor a visionist."
"What are you?" she asked abruptly.
"I am a disciple of love," he replied.
"Then I was right in calling you a dreamer, for love itself is a fantasm inspired by hope or memory."