“Oh, as to that—(may I give myself some coffee?)” Millner, in his walk around the table to fill his cup, paused a moment to lay an affectionate hand on Draper’s shoulder. “Perhaps I know him better, in a sense: outsiders often get a more accurate focus.”
Draper considered this. “And your idea is that he acts on principles he has never thought of testing or defining?”
Millner looked up quickly, and for an instant their glances crossed. “How do you mean?”
“I mean: that he’s an inconscient instrument of goodness, as it were? A—a sort of blindly beneficent force?”
The other smiled. “That’s not a bad definition. I know one thing about him, at any rate: he’s awfully upset at your having chucked your Bible Class.”
A shadow fell on young Spence’s candid brow. “I know. But what can I do about it? That’s what I was thinking of when I tried to show him that goodness, in a certain sense, is purely subjective: that one can’t do good against one’s principles.” Again his glance appealed to Millner. “ You understand me, don’t you?”
Millner stirred his coffee in a silence not unclouded by perplexity. “Theoretically, perhaps. It’s a pretty question, certainly. But I also understand your father’s feeling that it hasn’t much to do with real life: especially now that he’s got to make a speech in connection with the founding of this Missionary College. He may think that any hint of internecine strife will weaken his prestige. Mightn’t you have waited a little longer?”
“How could I, when I might have been expected to take a part in this performance? To talk, and say things I didn’t mean? That was exactly what made me decide not to wait.”
The door opened and Mr. Spence re-entered the room. As he did so his son rose abruptly as if to leave it.
“Where are you off to, Draper?” the banker asked.