And the more closely she studied
him the greater her awe became. He knew so much; he
understood so well. She could not imagine him swept away by
any of the petty emotions--the vanities, the jealousies, the
small rages, the small passions and loves that made up the
petty days of the small creatures who inhabit the world and
call it theirs. Could he fall in love? Had he been in love?
Yes--he must have been in love many times--for many women must
have taken trouble to please a man so well worth while, and he
must have passed from one woman to another as his whims or his
tastes changed. Could he ever care about her--as a woman?
Did he think her worn out as a physical woman? Or would he
realize that body is nothing by itself; that unless the soul
enters it, it is cold and meaningless and worthless--like the
electric bulb when the filament is dark and the beautiful,
hot, brilliant and intensely living current is not in it?
Could she love him? Could she ever feel equal and at ease,
through and through, with a man so superior?
"You'd better study the part of _Lola_--learn the lines," said
he, when he had finished his reflecting. "Then--this day week
at the same hour--we will begin. We will work all
afternoon--we will dine together--go to some theater where I
can illustrate what I mean. Beginning with next Wednesday
that will be the program every day until further notice.
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