she tossed restlessly all night, getting little sleep. In the morning she arose weary and disturbed, but more desperately in love than ever. This wonderful youth had revealed an entirely new and intensely dramatic world to her. When they met on the lawn again before breakfast, Angela was garbed in white linen. She looked waxen and delicate and her eyes showed dark rings as well as the dark thoughts that were troubling her. Eugene took her hand sympathetically. "Don't worry," he said, "I know. It isn't as bad as you think." And he smiled tenderly. "Oh, Eugene, I don't understand myself now," she said sorrowfully. "I thought I was better than that." "We're none of us better than that," he replied simply. "We just think we are sometimes. You are not any different to me. You just think you are." "Oh, are you sure?" she asked eagerly. "Quite sure," he replied. "Love isn't a terrible thing between any two. It's just lovely. Why should I think worse of you?" "Oh, because good girls don't do what I have done. I have been raised to know better--to do better." "All a belief, my dear, which you get from what has been taught you. You think it wrong. Why? Because your father and mother told you so. Isn't that it?" "Oh, not that alone. Everybody thinks it's wrong. The Bible teaches that it is. Everybody turns his back on you when he finds out." "Wait a minute," pleaded Eugene argumentatively. He was trying to solve this puzzle for himself. "Let's leave the Bible out of it, for I don't believe in the Bible--not as a law of action anyhow. The fact that everybody thinks it's wrong wouldn't necessarily make it so, would it?" He was ignoring completely the significance of _everybody_ as a reflection of those principles which govern the universe. "No-o-o," ventured Angela doubtfully. "Listen," went on Eugene. "Everybody in Constantinople believes that Mahomet is the Prophet of God. That doesn't make him so, does it?" "No." "Well, then, everyone here might believe that what we did last night was wrong without making it so. Isn't that true?" "Yes," replied Angela confusedly. She really did not know. She could not argue with him. He was too subtle, but her innate principles and instincts were speaking plainly enough, nevertheless. "Now what you're really thinking about is what people will do. They'll turn their backs on you, you say. That is a practical matter. Your father might turn you out of doors--" "I think he would," replied Angela, little understanding the bigness of the heart of her father. "I think he wouldn't," said Eugene, "but that's neither here nor there. Men might refuse to marry you. Those are material considerations. You wouldn't say they had anything to do with real right or wrong, would you?" Eugene had no convincing end to his argument. He did not know any more than anyone else what was right or wrong in this matter. He was merely talking to convince himself, but he had enough logic to confuse Angela.