"That doctrine is preached by some," said her father; "Christianity forbids any such view."
"He said," she went on, "he said this, when he first asked me to marry him: 'I have done some natural things which you would hold to be wrong. I have loved,' he said, 'for mere comfort, not for honor or life.' He asked me if I understood; I said 'Yes.' 'That is my confession,' he said. 'I have been,' he said, 'no better than others; I hope not worse.' And that was all. I thought he meant that he had been selfish and worldly. Is that other thing what he really meant?"
"No doubt."
"But he told me," she said, and looked at him with a forlorn hope.
"It was the best thing that he could do for himself; no doubt he guessed that eventually you would come to know."
She stood thinking back into the past.
"After he had told, he kissed me," she said; "he had never done that before." Her lips trembled and the tears ran down her face.
"You know enough now, my dear. That will not happen again."
"I still love him," she said, as though confessing to shame.
The Archbishop had sufficient wisdom to accept the statement without protest. "It would be hard for you to do otherwise," he said. "The heart cannot change all at once."