"How do you understand love?" he asked, in low, eager tones.
Grace smiled, and, poutingly, she protested:
"Why do you question me in this way?"
Slightly raising himself on one hand, he drew nearer to her and looked steadily up into her face until the boldness of his gaze embarrassed her. Her cheeks reddened, and she lowered her eyes.
"What do you know about love?" he demanded hoarsely.
"Every woman knows or thinks she knows," she replied, with affected carelessness.
He was silent for a moment, and then he went on:
"Suppose a woman—say a friend of yours—loved a man, with all the strength of her heart and soul. Suppose special conditions made her legal union with that man impossible. Would you forgive her if her great love tempted her to give herself to that man, or would you insist that she should suffer and make him suffer—alone?"
She listened with averted face. Well she knew the purport of these questions. But her face remained impassive, and her voice was calm as she replied gently:
"No woman may sit in judgment over another woman. No woman can tell positively what she might do under all circumstances. The temptation might be such that even a saint would succumb. That reminds me. Do you know the story of the Abbess of Jouarre?"