my madness!--yes, for you to take a cruel joy in knowing that I AM
mad--mad for the love of you! And you cannot be too often or too
thoroughly assured that your own passion finds its reflex in me!"

He paused, abruptly checked in his wild words by the sound of her
low, sweet, chill laughter. She withdrew her hands from his
burning grasp.

"My dear friend," she said lightly, "you really have a very
excellent opinion of yourself--excuse me for saying so! 'My own
passion!' Do you actually suppose I have a 'passion' for you?" And
rising from her chair, she drew up her slim supple figure to its
full height and looked at him with an amused and airy scorn. "You
are totally mistaken! No one man living can move me to love; I
know all men too well! Their natures are uniformly composed of the
same mixture of cruelty, lust and selfishness; and forever and
forever, through all the ages of the world, they use the greater
part of their intellectual abilities in devising new ways to
condone and conceal their vices. You call me 'temptress';--why?
The temptation, if any there be, emanates from yourself and your
own unbridled desires; I do nothing. I am made as I am made; if my
face or my form seems fair in your eyes, this is not my fault.
Your glance lights on me, as the hawk's lights on coveted prey;
but think you the prey loves the hawk in response? It is the
mistake all men make with all women,--to judge them always as
being of the same base material as themselves. Some women there
are who shame their womanhood; but the majority, as a rule,
preserve their self-respect till taught by men to lose it."

Gervase sprang up and faced her, his eyes flashing dangerously.