“Why?  Do people love each other more in the tropics?” she asked.  “You love me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.  But girls are not supposed to talk about it like men do.  Girls have to pretend they don’t feel all wobbly and anyhow, because it’s more fun for a man when a girl doesn’t hurl herself at him.”

“But why pretend?  Why not be honest about it?” she said, her voice a little flat.  “You want me to love you, don’t you?”

“Course I do.  But you’re so queer.  Most girls let a chap do the love-making.  They dress themselves up—­all laces and ribbons and things, and pretend they’re frightened to make a chap all the keener.”

She thought it out, sitting up as straight as possible.

“I couldn’t, Louis,” she said decidedly.  “I’ve read that in books, years ago.  I didn’t understand it then, but I do now.  And I think it’s horrible.  Father had a lot of books about those things and I read them to him when he was ill.  I was looking one up again the other day—­that day you threw the teapot in the sea.”  And she told him about the “preliminary canter.”

“Well, that’s absolutely right,” he said coolly.  “Women are like that.  They’re specialized for sex.  Don’t you admit that you’ve no brains?  You’ve told me so many a time, and your father always said you were an idiot.  And don’t you admit that when I kiss you—­especially here in the tropics where everything is a bit accelerated—­you feel different—­all wobbly—?”

She nodded, looking startled.

“Well, what does it mean?  It simply means you’re specialized.  Yes you are, Marcella.  Specialized as a woman.  All this—­this liking to be kissed, and feeling wobbly.  They’re Kraill’s preliminary canter.”

“Oh no—­no!” she cried in horror.

“Oh, yes, yes!” he mocked, laughing at her gently.

“But Louis, how horrible!”

“Well, you’re always preaching honesty and facing facts,” he said bluntly.

“Yes—­” she said thoughtfully.  “But—­I don’t like it.  I hate it.  I don’t believe Kraill thinks like that, really—­I’ve read three of his courses of lectures and in all of them he doesn’t seem to approve of women being like that.  Just vehicles of existence or bundles of sensation.  He seems, to me, to resent women.”

“Yes—­after many love adventures,” he began.

“But—­don’t you think all the time he was just getting his education?  Like I am?  A month ago I’d have been horrified at the thought of kissing you.  Now I like it.  A few months ago I loathed the thought of having a body—­and just everything connected with it.  Now, ever since that day I was getting my nice frock ready to go with you to Pompeii I’ve not minded it a bit.  All the time, now, I wish I was nicer.”

“Because you’ve fallen in love, my child,” he said, smiling in supreme superiority.  “And falling in love instructs even fools.”

“It’s taught me some very lovely things the last few days, Louis,” she said dreamily.  “It’s taught me that I’ve to be very shining, for you.  And it’s taught me that I’d die for you very happily.  But what you’ve just said—­about kissing—­has suddenly taught me something very beastly.  I wanted to love you with my soul and my mind.  And now you say it’s the hot weather!”