The Dark Other. Stanley Grauman Weinbaum

      "Yes," said the other, staring at her with no change in the fixity of his gaze.

      "Then how can you—act like this to me?"

      "This is my conception of love."

      "I don't understand!" the girl said helplessly. "I'm completely puzzled—it's all topsy-turvy."

      "Yes," he said in impassive agreement.

      "But what is this, Nick? Please, please—what is this? Are you mad?" She had almost added, "Like your father."

      "No," he said, still in those cold tones. "This is an experiment."

      "An experiment!"

      "Yes. An experiment in evil."

      "I don't understand," she repeated.

      "I said you wouldn't."

      "Do you mean," she asked, struck by a sudden thought, "that discussion of ours about pure horror? What you said that night last week?"

      "That!" His voice was icy and contemptuous. "That was the drivel of a weakling. No; I mean evil, not horror—the living evil that can be so beautiful that one walks deliberately, with open eyes, into Hell only to prevent its loss. That is the experiment."