
"And these potions," said Alan. "They are not just-just-er-"
"Oh, no," said the old man. "Their effects are permanent, and extend far beyond the mere casual impulse.
But they include it. Oh, yes they include it. Bountifully, insistently. Everlastingly."
"Dear me!" said Alan, attempting a look of scientific detachment. "How very interesting!"
"But consider the spiritual side," said the old man.
"I do, indeed," said Alan.
"For indifference," said the old man, they substitute devotion. For scorn, adoration. Give one tiny measure
of this to the young lady -- its flavor is imperceptible in orange juice, soup, or cocktails-and however gay
and giddy she is, she will change altogether. She will want nothing but solitude and you."
"I can hardly believe it," said Alan. "She is so fond of parties."
"She will not like them any more," said the old man. "She will be afraid of the pretty girls you may meet."
"She will actually be jealous?" cried Alan in a rapture. "Of me?"
"Yes, she will want to be everything to you."
"She is, already. Only she doesn't care about it."
"She will, when she has taken this. She will care intensely. You will be her sole interest in life."
"Wonderful!" cried Alan.
"She will want to know all you do," said the old man. "All that has happened to you during the day. Every
word of it. She will want to know what you are thinking about, why you smile suddenly, why you are
looking sad."
"That is love!" cried Alan.
"Yes," said the old man. "How carefully she will look after you! She will never allow you to be tired, to sit
in a draught, to neglect your food. If you are an hour late, she will be terrified. She will think you are killed,
or that some siren has caught you."
"I can hardly imagine Diana like that!" cried Alan, overwhelmed with joy.
"You will not have to use your imagination," said the old man. "And, by the way, since there are always
sirens, if by any chance you should, later on, slip a little, you need not worry. She will forgive you, in the
end. She will be terribly hurt, of course, but she will forgive you-in the end."
"That will not happen," said Alan fervently.
"Of course not," said the old man. "But, if it did, you need not worry. She would never divorce you. Oh,
no! And, of course, she will never give you the least, the very least, grounds for-uneasiness."
"And how much," said Alan, "is this wonderful mixture?"
"It is not as dear," said the old man, "as the glove-cleaner, or life-cleaner, as I sometimes call it. No. That is
five thousand dollars, never a penny less. One has to be older than you are, to indulge in that sort of thing.
One has to save up for it."