“They sound unpleasant.”
“They are—very,” agreed Lady Susan with her jolly laugh. “The question under discussion is whether we all eventually have to pay up for our misdeeds—even in this world.”
“I think we do—in some form or another,” said Tempest quietly. “Only perhaps we don’t always recognise the penalty, as a penalty, when it comes.”
“Then it seems rather a waste, doesn’t it?” suggested Brett idly.
The rector’s quiet eyes rested on the speaker.
“I don’t think so. If we recognised it as a punishment, we should probably resent it so much that it wouldn’t do us any good—just as spanking doesn’t really do a child any good but only rouses its naughty temper. Whereas when it comes unrecognised, even though it may be the outcome of our own mistaken actions, it educates and changes us—does, in fact, just what punishment is really designed to do, acts as a remedial force. I think God often works like that.”
“Only, sometimes, the sinner isn’t the only one who pays,” threw in Coventry shortly.
“He’s the only one who doesn’t pay, generally speaking,” answered Brett, with a grin. “He flourishes like a green bay tree instead. I never dream of paying for my sins,” he added cheerfully.
Tempest smiled—that tolerant, good-humoured smile of his which always took the sting out of anything he might say.
“You’re not at the end of life yet, Mr. Forrester,” he observed quietly.