"A lover who is unfaithful does the deadliest dishonour that is possible to love, in _my_ opinion," said she, with her customary air of decision. "To break _any_ pledge is bad enough, but to break _that_ pledge ought to disqualify a man from ever again calling himself a man." "I do not think there should be any pledges in love, either given or asked for," said Rachel softly. "Love is not a thing to be tied and bound. Fancy a man feeling that he _had_ to keep a promise if he did not wish to do it! And, oh! fancy a woman letting him--being deceived into letting him make a sacrifice for her! It would be an outrage and a degradation to both of them. I think Roden--Mr. Dalrymple--is above that, Beatrice." From all she had heard, Mrs. Reade was decidedly disposed to think so too. "He says that they are a curse upon people's lives--those engagements that are kept," continued Rachel, looking solemnly out of the window with her pensive eyes. "Did he tell you that? Dear me, he must be a most extraordinary man." "I understand it perfectly--I know what he means. When we love one another we are not responsible; something in us makes us do it. When we leave off loving--when we get dissatisfied--we can't help it either. It is nature that tells us to do the one as well as the other; and nature should be obeyed, Roden says." Mrs. Reade made no comment upon this, but thought to herself that it was a remarkably wise provision of nature--under the circumstances--that her devotee was endowed with the courage of his convictions. "It is very hard for me now, but it is the truest kindness and gentleness on his part," the girl went on, with a tremor in her quiet voice. "He knows we understand each other better than any one else can do. I think some day he will come and tell me all about it--when he thinks I can bear it; how he could not help it; that that other woman's memory was more to him than any new love a few days old could be, and how he was true to her and to himself, and to me, not to wrong any of us any further to gratify my foolishness. It will be something of that sort, I know; it will be nothing that is a disgrace to him. Ah, Beatrice, you think I am talking childish nonsense, I see it in your face." "I certainly do, my dear. I think you are fully qualified for admission into the Yarra Bend, if you wish for the candid truth." "No; you don't know him, and I do. I am puzzled, I don't deny that I am puzzled a little; but I _trust_ him. He may do what he likes; I shall never think that he will do anything wrong. Some day it will be explained, and I shall see that he was right. I shall love him the more for not being afraid to break off with me when he felt it was a mistake. Under any circumstances I love him too well not to be thankful I am spared the misery of seeing him suffer from an irksome marriage that could not satisfy him. And love--as he and I understand love--would be degraded by vulgar efforts to keep it under lock and key."