"Listen, Holly. Thou art a good and honest man, and I fain would spare
thee; but, oh! it is so hard for woman to be merciful. I have said I am
not for thee, therefore let thy thoughts pass by me like an idle wind,
and the dust of thy imagination sink again into the depths--well, of
despair, if thou wilt. Thou dost not know me, Holly. Hadst thou seen me
but ten hours past when my passion seized me, thou hadst shrunk from me
in fear and trembling. I am of many moods, and, like the water in that
vessel, I reflect many things; but they pass, my Holly; they pass, and
are forgotten. Only the water is the water still, and I still am I, and
that which maketh the water maketh it, and that which maketh me maketh
me, nor can my quality be altered. Therefore, pay no heed to what I
seem, seeing that thou canst not know what I am. If thou troublest me
again I will veil myself, and thou shalt behold my face no more."
I rose, and sank on the cushioned couch beside her, yet quivering with
emotion, though for a moment my mad passion had left me, as the leaves
of a tree quiver still, although the gust be gone that stirred them.
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