“Should you do it if you thought it was wrong?”
“I don’t know,” said Hazel thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine seriously believing that it would matter to God, one way or the other. Should you? Frances wouldn’t, one knows.”
“If I did it,” slowly said Rosamund, “it would be as a deliberate choice between good and evil. I should believe myself to be breaking God’s law—but I might do it, if I thought it worth while.”
She knew that if, as she said, it seemed to her worth while, no laws of God or man should bind her. But she would break them of deliberate intent, whereas to Hazel Tregaskis they were non-existent, myths designed for the wanton frightening of children.
Rosamund recognized the absolute sincerity of Hazel’s point of view, and sometimes found herself wondering what Sir Guy’s might be. One day, very soon before the marriage, she held an odd little conversation with him, standing in the wintry sunshine of the terrace. Frederick Tregaskis was ahead of them, grimly poking with a walking-stick at a little drain that was choked with leaves.
“He’s been very kind to me,” said Sir Guy abruptly, indicating with a gesture the odd little figure.
“I think that he really likes you very much,” said Rosamund. “And though he would be very angry at being told so, I have always known that Cousin Frederick adores Hazel.”
Sir Guy nodded with full comprehension.
“Yes, of course. She knows that, too. It’s been the best thing in her life so far—that and having you and your sister here.” He paused for a moment or two. “You know,” he said slowly, “I want to try and make up to her for everything that she hasn’t had, so far. She ought to have everything. She seems, somehow, so made for happiness.”
“I have never seen Hazel sad,” said Rosamund, rather surprised. “I think she is happy by nature.”