“That doesn’t say it was an inviting one,” retorted John.
“I’m a fool to be worried about such a trifling absurdity,” he thought.
“There is much,” said Corin didactically, “that is uninviting at the outset, but which, on further acquaintance, proves of extraordinary interest. Also, for my part, rather let me grasp Truth however uninviting she may appear, than dally with the most pleasing of lies.”
John laughed.
“I wonder,” went on Corin, “what precise debt of karma the family at the Castle owes this man, that he is to be the instrument for their unseating.”
“According to you,” returned John, “since he has paid off his own debt, and gained reward, he is obliged to unseat someone.”
Corin sighed.
“I fear,” he said, “that I shall never be able to make you perceive the law and order, the strict justice in the universe. If reward is gained at the expense of another, it is merely because that other deserves that the reward should be so gained.”
John laughed a second time. Argument in this quarter was futile, and he knew it. His friendship with Corin was always a matter of some slight amusement and puzzlement to him, when he chanced to consider the subject. It is certainly somewhat difficult to conceive wherein precisely the attraction between them existed, having in view their diametrically opposite opinions.
“Confound the man,” thought John, and it was not on Corin those thoughts were centred, “why couldn’t he have been all that I had pictured him?”