"Yes, you will do what I decide," said the voice; "you know that perfectly well."
"Then what is the use of my taking all this trouble?" I said.
"Oh, you may just as well look into it," said the voice; "that is your part! You are only my servant, after all. You have got to work the figures and the details out, and then I shall settle. Of course you must do your part—it is not all wasted. What is wasted is your fretting and fussing!"
"I am anxious," I said. "I cannot help being anxious!"
"That is a pity!" said the voice. "It hurts you and it hurts me too, in a way. You disturb me, you know; but I cannot interfere with you; I must wait."
"But are you sure you will do right?" I said.
"I shall do what must be done," said the voice. "If you mean, shall
I regret my choice, that is possible; at least you may regret it.
But it will not have been a mistake."
I was puzzled at this, and for a time the voice was silent, so that I had leisure to look about me. I had walked some way while the dialogue went on, and I was now by the stream, which ran full and cold into a pool beside the bridge, a pool like a clouded jewel. How beautiful it was! . . . The old thoughts began again, the old perplexities. "If he says THAT," I said to myself, thinking of an opponent of my plan, "then I must be prepared with an answer—it is a weak point in my case; perhaps it would be better to write; one says what one thinks; not what one means to say. . . ."
"Still at work?" said the voice. "You are having a very uncomfortable time over there. I am sorry for that! Yet I cannot think why you do not understand!"
"What ARE you?" I said impatiently.