And, all the time, she is pitying me for exactly the same reason! She is conscience-stricken because she is only indulging in the luxury of being adored 'by far the cleverest man she has ever met,' and is as heart-whole as I am! Ha, ha! That is the basis of the religion of love of which poets are the high-priests.

Each worshipper knows that his own love is either a transient passion or a sham copied from his favorite poem; but he believes honestly in the love of others for him.

Ho, ho! Is it not a silly world, my dear ?" "You had no right to make love to Agatha.

You have no right to make love to anyone but me; and I won't bear it." "You are angry because Agatha has infringed your monopoly.

Always monopoly! Why, you silly girl, do you suppose that I belong to you, body and soul ?--that I may not be moved except by your affection, or think except of your beauty ?" "You may call me as many names as you please, but you have no right to make love to Agatha." "My dearest, I do not recollect calling you any names.