"Beauty does not move him!" she said.
She was right. Nothing was likely to move Roger Seaton from any purpose he had once resolved upon. What to him was beauty? Merely a "fortuitous concourse of atoms" moving for a time in one personality. What was a girl? Just the young "female of the species"--no more. And love? Sexual attraction, of which there was enough and too much in Seaton's opinion. And the puzzled Gwent wondered whether after all he would not have acted more wisely--or diplomatically--in accepting Seaton's proposal to part with his secret to the United States Government, even with the proviso and State pledge that it was to be "used" should occasion arise, rather than leave him to his own devices to do as he pleased with the apparently terrific potentiality of which he alone had the knowledge and the mastery. And while his thoughts thus buzzed in his head like swarming bees, Manella stood regarding him in a kind of pitiful questioning like a child with a broken toy who can not understand "why" it is broken. As he did not speak at once she took up the thread of conversation.
"You see how it is no use," she said. "No use to think of his ever loving ME! But love for HIM--ah!--that I have, and that I will ever keep in my heart!--and to save his life I would myself gladly die!"
Gwent uttered a sound between a grunt and a sigh.
"There it is! You women always run to extremes! 'Gladly die' indeed! Poor girl, why should you 'die' for him or for any man! That's sheer sentimental nonsense! There's not a man that ever lived, or that ever will live, that's worth the death of a woman! That's so! Men think too much of themselves--they've been killing women ever since they were born--it's time they stopped a bit."
Manella's beautiful eyes expressed bewilderment.
"Killing women? Is that what they do?"
"Yes, my good girl!--that is what they do! The silly trusting creatures go to them like lambs, and get their throats cut! In marriage or out of it--the throat-cutting goes on, for men are made of destructive stuff and love the sport of killing. They are never satisfied unless they can kill something--a bird, a fox or a woman. I'm a man myself and I know!"
"YOU would kill a woman?" Manella's voice was a horrified whisper.
Gwent laughed.
"No,--not I, my child! I'm too old. I've done with love-making and 'sport' of all kinds. I don't even drive a golf-ball, in make-believe that it's a woman I'm hitting as fast and far as I can. Oh, yes!--you stare!--you are wondering why, if I have such ideas, I should suggest love-making and marriage to YOU,--well, I don't actually recommend it!--but I'm rather thinking more of your 'god' than of you. You might possibly help him a bit--"