"Would he have known you had a conscience, do you think, if he had had
none himself?" I asked her. "Did he ever say anything that showed he
was yielding to a strong inclination which he could not justify and
would not conquer?"
"Oh, no!" she said; then added, undecidedly: "at least--he did say
once: 'Of course, in the opinion of the world the thing cannot be
justified,' but then he went on as if it had slipped from him
involuntarily: 'Bah! I am only doing as other men do.'"
"Which shows he was not exactly satisfied to be only as other men are."
"That is what I have often told you," she said; "his ideal of life,
both for himself and others, is the highest possible, and he suffers
when he falls below it, or even belies himself with a word."
"Passion never lasts, and love does not lead to evil," I continued,
meditatively; "if you love him, Ideala, how will you bear to feel that
he has degraded himself by degrading you?"
"Oh! do not speak like that!" she exclaimed. "There is no degradation
in love. It is sin that degrades, and sin is something that corrupts
our minds, is it not? and makes us unfit for any good work, and
unwilling to undertake any.
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