One more won't hurt."
"Have you ever been in love?"
"What?"
"Don't I speak plainly enough? Have--you--ever--been--in--love?"
"With a woman?"
"Why, yes," she railed. "With a woman, of course. I don't mean
with your musty science."
"No."
"Well, you needn't be violent. Have you ever been in love with
ANYTHING?"
"Perhaps."
"Oh, perhaps!" she taunted. "There are no perhapses in that. With
what?"
"With what every man in the world is in love with once in his
life," he replied thoughtfully.
She made a little still step forward and peeped down at him. He
stood leaning against the face of the rock, gazing out over the
hot blue Caribbean, his hat pushed back and his absurd goggles
firm and high on his nose. His words and voice were in
preposterous contrast to his appearance.
"Riddle me your riddle," she commanded. "What is every man in love
with once in his life?"
"An ideal."
"Ah! And your ideal--where do you keep it safe from the common
gaze?"
"I tether it to my heart--with a single hair," said the man below.
"Oh," commented Miss Brewster, in a changed tone.
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