"Whither away, Mistress?" he asked, as he raised his cap and walked by her side. "I am going to take these to old Mrs. Peterson at the far lodge; she has not been well these last days." "Jacob's wife?" "Yes." "Then may I come, too? I must have some exercise; look upon it like that, since I strongly suspect if I told you that it was simply for the pleasure of being with you, you would send me back." "I should not want to, but I suppose I should have to say that." She was looking very pretty in her rough homespun suit and green felt hat. The wind had blown no colour as yet into her cheeks, but had made her little ears almost a scarlet pink. She seemed the embodiment of sensuous youth and health and life. Her type was so far from being ascetic. What ever the mental gifts might be, Nature would have a strong say in everything concerning her. The Duke admired her supple, slender limbs, and he reflected, just as Gerard had done long before, how very stately she would become presently--if she married and had children----Sir John--but he banished Sir John! "Shall we forget all those stupid conventions on this wild March morning, and return to the stage in our acquaintance at which we were when we said good-night at Gerard Strobridge's?" "That would be nice." "Is it a bargain, then?" "Yes." "I am not to be 'Your Grace,' and you are not to remind me every two minutes that you are Lady Garribardine's secretary." "Very well." "If you remember, the last words we had together then were finished by a question from you to me, as to whether there was not something else in love beyond that passionate side which you intimated that you already knew." "Yes, I remember." "I think there is a great deal more, but it would not be complete alone. Love to be lasting must be a mixture of both passion and idealism, but where can one find such a combination in these days? The emotion which most people call love is composed of self-interest, and a little transitory exaltation of the senses. But such old-fashioned and divine qualities as devotion and tenderness and self-sacrifice are almost unknown." Katherine did not speak; the "Letters of Abelard and Héloise" were very fresh in her memory; one passage in _Héloise's_ first letter had struck her forcibly: If there is anything that may properly be called happiness here below, I am persuaded it is in the union of two persons who love each other with perfect liberty, who are united by a secret inclination and satisfied with each other's merits. Their hearts are full of love and leave no vacancy for any other passion; they enjoy perpetual tranquillity, because they enjoy content.