He shook his head.
"Miss Dane, the more I know of life, I am learning to write fate in capitals, and to spell Providence with a little p. Things are pretty well cut out for us."
She glanced at him with sudden intentness.
"Then I hope the scissors are sharp, and that Moira carries a steady hand. We have to put up with our own indecisions; those of other people are maddening."
"Doesn't that depend upon what the decision finally proves to be?" he asked.
Her eyes had gone back to the fire, and her face was very grave.
"No; I would rather know where I am going. Anything is better than drifting; it is a comfort to look steadily forward to the best or to the worst." Suddenly she roused herself. "Mr. Thayer, do you realize that it is two months since I have heard you sing?"
He roused himself quite as suddenly. In the slight pause which had broken her speech, he had been making a swift, but futile effort to chart the future. He knew that Lorimer was drifting carelessly, thoughtlessly; he also knew that Beatrix was allowing herself to drift idly in his wake. And how about himself? And would they all make the same port in the end? If not, where would the diverging currents be waiting for them?
His brain was working intently; but his voice was quite conventional, as he rose.
"I hoped you would ask me. After a month or two of singing to strangers, I begin to feel the need of something a little more personal. Will you have the new songs, or the old?"