He laughed, his sudden pleasant laugh that he uttered now so rarely. "But I am no philosopher," he said. "Simply I think—a little—sometimes. And to me—to be honourable is no more a virtue than to wash the hands. One cannot do otherwise and respect oneself."
"No?" said Chris, a little dubiously. "Then, Bertie, if honour is not goodness, what is?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Goodness? Bah! There is no goodness without love."
"Oh!" Chris's eyes opened wide. "You think—that?"
He nodded with vehemence. "Si, chérie! I think—that; more, I know it. I know that 'Love is the fulfilling of the law.' One does not need to go further than that. It is enough, no?" His eyes looked straight into hers; they were shining with the light that only friendship can kindle.
She smiled back at him. "I should almost think it is, Bertie. It is enough for you anyhow, since you believe it."
"Ah, yes," he said very earnestly. "I believe it, Christine. I should not be here now—if I did not believe it."
She puckered her brows a little. "I don't quite know what you mean," she said.
He turned from her questioning eyes, pulling his hat down over his own.
"No," he said. "But—you know enough, ma petite, you know enough."
"I sometimes think I don't know anything," she said restlessly.