Hermione laughed, an honest, gay laugh, that rang out wholesomely in the narrow room.
"I doubt it, Emile. Perhaps I'm too conceited. For instance, if I cared for some one and was cared for—"
"And the caring of the other ceased, because he had only a certain, limited faculty of affection and transferred his affection elsewhere—what then?"
"I've so much pride, proper or improper, that I believe my affection would die. My love subsists on sympathy—take that food from it and it would starve and cease to live. I give, but when giving I always ask. If I were to be refused I couldn't give any more. And without the love there could be no jealousy. But that isn't the point, Emile."
He smiled.
"What is?"
"The point is—can a noble nature lapse like that from its nobility?"
"Yes, it can."
"Then it changes, it ceases to be noble. You would not say that a brave man can show cowardice and remain a brave man."
"I would say that a man whose real nature was brave, might, under certain circumstances, show fear, without being what is called a coward. Human nature is full of extraordinary possibilities, good and evil, of extraordinary contradictions. But this point I will concede you, that it is like the boomerang, which flies forward, circles, and returns to the point from which it started. The inherently noble nature will, because it must, return eventually to its nobility. Then comes the really tragic moment with the passion of remorse."