"I was so much interested in the story of your ring," she said presently, to lift the silence which had fallen upon them both. "It is such a strange idea that great good fortune is unlucky--since we always draw what we deserve. If we are foolish and draw misfortune at the beginning of our lives, we must of course pay the price, but if people's brains are properly balanced they should not fear good fortune in itself." "You think then that a whole life need not be shadowed with misery, but that if the price of folly is paid in youth, there may still be a chance of a happy old age?" "Of course--One must be quite true, that is all, and never deceive anyone who trusts one." "That would mean living in a palace of truth and would be impracticable." "Not at all. There are some things people have no right to ask or to be told--some things one must keep to oneself for the carrying on of life--but if a person has a right to know, and trusts you and you deceive him, then you must take the consequences of unhappiness which is the reflex action of untruth." "How wise you are, child--that is the whole meaning of honour, 'To thine own self be true and it must follow as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.'" She looked straight up into his eyes, hers were pure and deep and sorrowful. "Now I have seen your beautiful home I must go back to my work--I shall always remember this visit, and this happy morning--all my life." Mordryn was deeply moved, passionate emotion was coursing through him--with great difficulty he restrained the words which rose to his lips. He did not seek to detain her, and they retraced their steps, speaking little by the way, until they came to his sitting-room. "When you go to-morrow, will you take with you the 'Eothen' and the 'Abelard and Héloise?' I would like to know that you read them sometimes and there is one passage in _Abelard's_ first letter which I know I shall have to quote to myself--It is on the fifty-fourth page, the bottom paragraph--you must look at it some time--" Then his voice broke a little--"And now let us say good-bye--here in my room." "Good-bye," said Katherine and held out her hand. The Duke took it and with it drew her near to him. "Good-bye--Beloved," he whispered, and his tones were hoarse, and then he dropped her hand; and Katherine gave a little sob, and turning, ran from the room, leaving him with his proud head bent, and tears in his dark blue eyes. And she made herself return to her work--nor would she permit her thoughts to dwell for an instant upon the events of the morning, or the words of the Duke--for she knew that if she did so she would lose control of herself and foolishly burst into tears. And there was lunch to be endured, and the afternoon and evening.