"Darling, I missed you."

"Well," she replied, "You must fire again."

Assume that our young lady misunderstood his intentions, and that her lover was no wolf with a gun but sincerely in love: what was it that he missed about her? Assume, too, that he is not about to give a list mentioning the ironing, sewing and roof fixing: what was it that he missed about her as the one he loves?

The question of what is it that we love sets traps. Let him say her coquettish walk, the smile that lightens her face, her compassion and curves, her sense of colour and wonder at sunsets and rainbows. Add if he must the skilful ironing and roof fixing. Whatever is said, may she not rightly retort, "Ah, so you just love me for properties x, y, z and so on"? Once he has given such a list, it would seem she can then reasonably add, "So anyone else with those properties would have received your love? If we popped another person in my place, but with the same coquettish walk, smile and so on, then you would love her?" Her lover would be well-advised to pause for thought before answering this loaded question. At least in intimacy, we commit to its being this individual that we love, not just anyone of the desirable type. Yet it remains mysterious what the this is, if it does not come down to properties repeatable in others. [...]