John Derringham frowned under his straw hat which he had pulled over his eyes. He had not come into the country to be dragged out to bucolic dinner parties. But upon some points he knew his old master was obdurate and from his firm acceptance of the invitation this appeared to be one of them.
Then Halcyone asked politely if he would have a second cup of tea, but he refused and again addressed Cheiron, ignoring her. Their conversation now ran into philosophical questions, some of them out of her depth, but much of the subject interested her deeply and she listened absorbed.
At last there was a pause and her fresh young voice asked:
"What, then, is the aim of philosophy—is it only words, or does it bring any good?"
And both men looked at her, staggered for a moment, and John Derringham burst into a ringing laugh.
"Upon my word, I don't know," he said. "It was invented so that the Master here and I should pull each other's theories to pieces; that evidently was its aim from the beginning of time. I do not know if it has any other good."
"Everything is so very simple," said Halcyone. "To have to argue about it must be fatiguing."
"You find things simple, do you?" asked John Derringham, now complacently roused to look at her. "What are your rules of life then, let us hear, oh, Oracle!—we listen with respect!"
Halcyone reddened a little and a gleam grew in her wise eyes. She would have refused to reply, but looking at her revered master, she saw that he was awaiting her answer with an encouraging smile. So she thought a second and then said calmly, measuring her words: "Things are what we make them, they have no power in themselves; they are as inanimate as this wood—" and she touched the table with her fine brown hand. "It is we ourselves who give them activity. So it is our own faults if they are bad—they could just as easily be good. Is not that simple enough?"
"An example, please, Goddess," demanded John Derringham with a cynical smile.