“The state of your mind is provocative,” he said. “By invoking things to happen you may precipitate a crisis. It is always a dangerous practice to tempt the gods.”
“I don’t agree with that. I’m something of a fatalist,” she said. “I believe, not that our lives are prearranged, but that the event which happens is inevitable, that we must accept things as they come to us. The manner of our acceptance alone is left to our choice.”
“I should hesitate to adopt that theory,” he said. “I like to feel that I have some say in the arrangement of my life. According to your idea a man might hold himself immune for any evil he contrived. It relieves the individual of all responsibility.”
“No.” She flushed slightly. “The qualities of good and evil are ours to develop at will. The individual is always responsible for his own nature.”
“I don’t like your theory any better as you enlarge it,” he replied. “It’s rough on any one to have to keep good with all the odds against him. And if he fail, what then?”
“I don’t believe in complete human failure,” she answered quietly. “Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
He was thinking of Hallam, considering him a fair example of failure; she also was thinking of Hallam, but with greater kindness. Derelict though the man appeared, the belief held with her that one day he would pull himself together and make good. She got up suddenly.
“We are growing too serious,” she said; “and it’s nearly lunch time. What a blessed break in the day one’s meals make.”
Hallam was in his accustomed seat when she returned, but he did not look up when she passed him on her way inside. He was reading a newspaper. His hands, holding the printed sheet, shook more than usual, she fancied; otherwise he looked much the same. She believed that he was aware of her presence, though he made no sign that he saw her. She passed him and entered the narrow passage and went direct to her room. An unaccountable shyness had come over her. She shrank from going into lunch, shrank from the thought of sitting beside him in the embarrassing silence which his taciturnity imposed. The thing was getting on her nerves. In the case of any other man, she believed that she would not have minded this blunt ungraciousness; but this man had the power to hurt her. The thing was incomprehensible and astonished her greatly. Why should his behaviour wound her when in another man it would merely have given offence?