Suzee came over to where I was sitting and knelt beside my chair, clasping both hands round my arm.
"Treevor," she said, almost in a whisper, "you are so beautiful with your straight face, every line in it is so straight, quite straight; and your black hair and your dark eyes and your dark eyebrows. I want that for my baby. I want a son just like you; he must be just like you, and then I should be so happy."
As she spoke, the lines of a poetess flashed across me, indistinctly remembered—"beauty that women seek after … that they may give to the world again."
Was this the reason of woman's love of beauty in men? Ah, not with all women! Viola loved beauty, as I did, as all artists do, as they love their art, for itself alone.
I stroked her smooth shining hair, gently, and shook my head, smiling down upon her.
"Do you not value my love for you?" I asked.
"Oh yes, yes; you know I do."
"Well, then understand this: you would utterly and entirely lose it if you became a mother."
Suzee shrank away from me.
"But why, Treevor? Hop Lee was so pleased with me…."