Denzil leaned against the tomb and he thought deeply: then he looked straight into her eyes:
"Honour lies in not betraying a trust reposed in one, either in the spirit or in the letter."
"Then, when, we say of a man 'he acted honourably,' we mean that he did not betray a trust placed in him, even if it was only perhaps by circumstance and not by a person."
"It is simply that'—keeping faith. If a man stole a sum of money from a friend, the dishonour would not be in the act of stealing, which is another offence—but in abusing his friend's trust in him by committing that act."
"Dishonour is a betrayal then—"
"Of course."
"Why would this knight"—and she placed her hand on the marble face, "have said that he must kill another who had stolen his wife, say, to avenge his 'honour'?"
"That is the conventional part of it—what Stépan calls the grafting on of a meaning to suit some idea of civilisation. It was a nice way of having personal revenges too and teaching people that they could not steal anything with impunity. If we analysed that kind of honour we would find it was principally vanity. The dishonour really lay with the wife, if she deceived her husband—and with the other man if he was the husband's friend—if he was not, his abduction of the woman was not 'dishonourable' because he was not trusted, it was merely an act of theft."
"What then must we do when we are very strongly tempted?" Her voice was so low he could hardly hear it.
"It is sometimes wisest to run away," and he turned from her and moved towards the door.