“You have, however, just as strong a sentiment of gratitude.”
“I never knew that, either,” muttered he; “perhaps because it has had so little provocation!”
“Bear in mind,” said Conyers, who was rather disconcerted by the want of concurrence he had met with, “that I am in a great measure referring to latent qualities,—things which probably require time and circumstances to develop.”
“Oh, if that's it,” said Dili, “I can no more object than I could if you talked to me about what is down a dozen fathoms in the earth under our feet. It may be granite or it may be gold, for what I know; the only thing that I see is the gravel before me.”
“I 'll tell you a trait of your character you can't gainsay,” said Conyers, who was growing more irritated by the opposition so unexpectedly met with, “and it's one you need not dig a dozen fathoms down to discover,—you are very reckless.”
“Reckless—reckless,—you call a fellow reckless that throws away his chance, I suppose?”
“Just so.”
“But what if he never had one?”
“Every man has a destiny; every man has that in his fate which he may help to make or to mar as he inclines to. I suppose you admit that?”
“I don't know,” was the sullen reply.