Yes, probably it would be the same case over again.  And yet, and yet—­was Beatrice of that class?  Had she not too much of a man’s straightforwardness of aim to permit her to play such tricks?  In the bottom of his soul he thought that she had, but he would not admit it to himself.  The fact of the matter was that, half unknowingly, he was trying to drug his conscience.  He knew that in his longing to see her dear face once more he had undertaken a dangerous thing.  He was about to walk with her over an abyss on a bridge which might bear them, or—­might break.  So long as he walked there alone it would be well, but would it bear them both? Alas for the frailty of human nature, this was the truth; but he would not and did not acknowledge it.  He was not going to make love to Beatrice, he was going to enjoy the pleasure of her society.  In friendship there could be no harm.

It is not difficult thus to still the qualms of an uneasy mind, more especially when the thing in question at its worst is rather an offence against local custom than against natural law.  In many countries of the world—­in nearly all countries, indeed, at different epochs of their history—­it would have been no wrong that Geoffrey and Beatrice should love each other, and human nature in strong temptation is very apt to override artificial barriers erected to suit the convenience or promote the prosperity of particular sections of mankind.  But, as we have heard, even though all things may be lawful, yet all things are not expedient.  To commit or even to condone an act because the principle that stamps it as wrong will admit of argument on its merits is mere sophistry, by the aid of which we might prove ourselves entitled to defy the majority of laws of all calibres.  Laws vary to suit the generations, but each generation must obey its own, or confusion will ensue.  A deed should be judged by its fruits; it may even be innocent in itself, yet if its fruits are evil the doer in a sense is guilty.

Thus in some countries to mention the name of your mother-in-law entails the most unpleasant consequences on that intimate relation.  Nobody can say that to name the lady is a thing wicked in itself; yet the man who, knowing the penalties which will ensue, allows himself, even in a fit of passion against that relative, to violate the custom and mention her by name is doubtless an offender.  Thus, too, the result of an entanglement between a woman and a man already married generally means unhappiness and hurt to all concerned, more especially to the women, whose prospects are perhaps irretrievably injured thereby.  It is useless to point to the example of the patriarchs, some foreign royal families, and many respectable Turks; it is useless to plead that the love is deep and holy love, for which a man or woman might well live and die, or to show extenuating circumstances in the fact of loneliness, need of sympathy, and that the existing marriage is a hollow sham.  The rule is clear.  A man may do most things except cheat at cards or run away in action; a woman may break half-a-dozen hearts, or try to break them, and finally put herself up at auction and take no harm at all—­but neither of them may in any event do this.