"Yes." said Paul gloomily. "I must try to please you, or you will throw me away."
"You see," she continued, "the ignorant make vows, and being weaklings--for the most part--vanity and fate easily remove their inclination from the loved one; it may not be his fault any more than a broken leg keeping him from walking would be his fault, beyond the fact that it was his leg; but we have to suffer for our own things--so there it is. We will say the weakling's inclination wants to make him break his vows; so he does, either in the letter or spirit--or both! And then he feels degraded and cheap and low, as all must do who break their sacred word given of their own free will when inclination prompted them to. So how much better to make no vow; then at least when the cord of attraction snaps, we can go free, still defying the lightning in our untarnished pride."
"Oh! darling, do not speak of it," cried Paul, "the cord of attraction between us can never snap. I worship, I adore you--you are just my life, my darling one, my Queen!"
"Sweet Paul!" she whispered, "oh! so good, so good is love, keep me loving you, my beautiful one--keep my desire long to be your Queen."
And after this they melted into one another's arms, and cooed and kissed, and were foolish and incoherent, as lovers always are and have been from the beginning of old time. More concentrated--more absorbed--than the sternest Eastern sage--absorbed in each other.
The spirit of two natures vibrating as One.