"I understand there's a tradition to that effect," responded Eustace, indolently. "If that is the case, it is a pity Heaven gives a woman to one man who doesn't care about her, instead of bestowing her on another who cannot be happy without her." "Is that your case?" "Yes." There was a pause, during which she looked at him curiously. He met her gaze calmly, and not an idea of his meaning crossed her mind. "So you love a married woman?" "I do, and therefore no doubt am an object of horror in your eyes?" The child had fallen asleep on her breast, and rising to her feet she walked slowly to and fro, rocking him in her arms. "I have no right to judge you," she said evasively, "but you can hardly expect me--a wife and a mother--to say that I approve of such a dishonourable passion." Eustace winced at the scorn of the last words. "No, I cannot," he answered slowly, "but let me put the case before you in another way. Suppose a woman is married to a man who cares absolutely nothing about her, neglects her in every way, insults her by his passion for another woman----" "Oh!" she cried, shrinking as if he had struck her a blow. "I am putting a supposititious case, remember," he said hastily. "Well, this woman has a lover who adores her, but who has never ventured to express this passion, which the world calls dishonourable. The woman returns that passion and has only to say one word to the lover in order to be released from the curse of a loveless marriage, a neglectful husband, an unhappy home. What should that woman do in such a case?" "Remain true to her marriage vows," she said grandly. "But if the husband is not true." "Is she to sink to the level of the husband? No, Mr. Gartney. Let the wife shame the husband by her fidelity to the vows which he has broken." "And the lover?" "Is not a true lover, or he would not wish to drag the woman he professes to love through the mud of the world." "So you would condemn two lives to perpetual misery for the sake of one man, who does not appreciate the sacrifice?" "Not for the sake of the one man, but for the sake of virtue, of honour, of uprightness." Eustace was silent under the cold purity of her look. This woman was no dreamer as he had thought, but had a soul like that Roman Lucrece, who preferred death to dishonour. "Your creed is severe," he said at last, with a frown on his strongly marked features. "My creed is right," she replied simply. "Yes! according to the world." "No! according to God."