"Nature has an odd way of paying off old scores. She's a mistress of irony."
"And you appear to be a master of a peculiarly devilish kind of abominable suggestion," said Beresford irritably. "I thought you a dream-doctor at first—you're a nightmare-doctor! Do you think that Nature is a coquette, who appears to discourage a man in order to strengthen his ardour?"
After some hesitation the doctor replied:
"No: she's logical and even-tempered. There's nothing wayward about her: she represents abstract justice. Treat her well and she'll treat you well; abuse her and she's implacable. My professional experience tells me that if she ever deviates from the strict path of justice, it's on the side of clemency."
"Damn your professional experience," snapped Beresford, then he laughed.
"But what are you going to do?" persisted Tallis.
"You're as bad as Aunt Caroline. She always wants to plan a destiny as if it were a dinner."
"But that does not answer my question."
"It doesn't," agreed Beresford, "because there's no answer. When the time comes I shall decide."
They smoked on in silence, and Tallis did not again refer to the subject. The conversation, however, remained in Beresford's mind for several days. The conspiracy against him seemed widespread. Why had there always been this curious strain in him, a sort of unrest, an undefined expectancy? Was he in reality mad? Was he, indeed, pursuing a shadow? In any case he would prove it for himself.
