“I could not be anything with you but kind,” he replied, with a sort of unsteadiness, for though she was not lovely she was alluring, fascinating. He could have followed her away from everything, through disasters and fire without feeling it, until she left him.
“The honeymoon was invented for Adam and Eve before the Fall,” she said slowly, “and before the appearance of the serpent. Is there necessarily a serpent now?”
“You spoil everything by analysing it,” he replied. “You should look on things as a whole, and not dissect them; that is one of your own maxims. You told it to me when I asked of what your new hat was made. You said it was a whole and a creation.”
“But honeymoons are not wholes, nor are emotions. Everything is largely constituted of them.”
“They are moments. Live for one moment.”
“It passes so quickly,” she said, and sighed.
“Then, in a month,” he suggested, with an outward air of boldness, though inwardly he was doubtful and quaking, “you will marry me.”
“In a month! How soon!”
“How far away. Where shall we go for our tour?”
“Not to Paris. I hate Paris.”