"And here we are making love under the pretense of being intellectual," she rejoined. "What would we do without the dear deceptions that make us such pitiably delightful animals?"
"We'd be a hopelessly unimaginative set of eaters." His answer was quick. "I am convinced that it is our very power to deceive, plan grand follies, though petty in deeds, that makes us artists, dreamers, thinkers, and statesmen."
"Perhaps," she agreed, and then slipped her arms around him suddenly. "Is that what makes us able lovers, too?"
He laughed. "By Jove, I believe it is!" he exclaimed. "Well, old universal tangle, I do truly thank you for the power to be a foolish, deceived, human being. Hurrah for the instinct that makes me call you my divine necessity, Claire."
She laughed happily and leaned against his shoulder.
"For any instinct or deception that makes you more enjoyable, let us give thanks," he repeated.
"And for all the dear bodily claims that make me your adored one I do give thanks, Lawrence," she whispered.
Their lips met again. She drew back startled, and sprang to her feet with a cry of terror.
Philip stood in the doorway, looking at them with a face from which all human sentiment was gone. He was a raging beast.
"Lawrence," she screamed. "Philip!"