she said sorrowfully. "I
thought I was better than that."

"We're none of us better than that," he replied simply. "We just think
we are sometimes. You are not any different to me. You just think you
are."

"Oh, are you sure?" she asked eagerly.

"Quite sure," he replied. "Love isn't a terrible thing between any two.
It's just lovely. Why should I think worse of you?"

"Oh, because good girls don't do what I have done. I have been raised to
know better--to do better."

"All a belief, my dear, which you get from what has been taught you. You
think it wrong. Why? Because your father and mother told you so. Isn't
that it?"

"Oh, not that alone. Everybody thinks it's wrong. The Bible teaches that
it is. Everybody turns his back on you when he finds out."

"Wait a minute," pleaded Eugene argumentatively. He was trying to solve
this puzzle for himself. "Let's leave the Bible out of it, for I don't
believe in the Bible--not as a law of action anyhow. The fact that
everybody thinks it's wrong wouldn't necessarily make it so, would it?"
He was ignoring completely the significance of _everybody_ as a
reflection of those principles which govern the universe.

"No-o-o," ventured Angela doubtfully.

"Listen," went on Eugene. "Everybody in Constantinople believes that
Mahomet is the Prophet of God. That doesn't make him so, does it?"

"No."

"Well, then, everyone here might believe that what we did last night was
wrong without making it so. Isn't that true?"

"Yes," replied Angela confusedly. She really did not know. She could not
argue with him. He was too subtle, but her innate principles and
instincts were speaking plainly enough, nevertheless.

"Now what you're really thinking about is what people will do. They'll
turn their backs on you, you say. That is a practical matter. Your
father might turn you out of doors--"

"I think he would," replied Angela, little understanding the bigness of
the heart of her father.

"I think he wouldn't," said Eugene, "but that's neither here nor there.
Men might refuse to marry you. Those are material considerations. You
wouldn't say they had anything to do with real right or wrong, would
you?"

Eugene had no convincing end to his argument. He did not know any more
than anyone else what was right or wrong in this matter. He was merely
talking to convince himself, but he had enough logic to confuse Angela.

"I don't know," she said vaguely.

"Right," he went on loftily, "is