"Oh, you are just too cute," she said with a laugh of vexation and pleasure. "You make me go on just to make you follow; but it is really you that make me lead. That's what you mean by Bismarckism, isn't it?"
"You put it beautifully."
She swung round to face him. "Is there nothing you admire but Force?"
"Not Force—Power!"
"What's the difference?"
"Force is blind."
"So is love," she said. "Do you scorn that?" And her smile was daring and dazzling.
Ere he could reply Nature outdid her in dazzlement, and superadded a crash of thunder.
"Yes," he said, as though there had been no interruption. "I scorn all that is blind—even this storm that may strike you and me. Ah! the rain," as the great drops began to fall. "Poor Lady Chelmer—without an umbrella."
"We can shelter by these shrubs." In an instant she was crouching amid the ferns on a carpet of autumn leaves, making space for him beside her.