"Yes, I see, but what are we after all? Only two whirling atoms, blown on winds of Fate. What difference does it make whether we cling together, or are hopelessly sundered, as far apart as the poles?"
"The same difference that it makes to a human body whether its atoms behave or not. You don't want to upset the Universe, do you?"
He laughed, a trifle bitterly. "I don't flatter myself that I could."
"Not you alone, nor I, nor even both together, but we mustn't set a bad example to other atoms. As long as there's a preponderance of right in the world, things are clear, but, shift the balance, and then——"
What Is Right?
"What is right?" he demanded, roughly. "Always to do the thing you don't want to do?"
"That depends," she returned, shrugging her shoulders. "It is to do what you think is right, and trust that it may be so."
Alden stopped rowing. He was interested in these vague abstractions. "And," he said, "if a woman thinks it is her duty to murder her husband, and does it, is she doing right?"
"Possibly. I've seen lots of husbands who would make the world better by leaving it, even so—well, abruptly, as you indicate. And the lady you speak of, who, as it were, assists, may merely have drawn a generous part of Lucretia Borgia for her soul-substance, and this portion chanced to assert itself while her husband was in the house and out of temper."
"Don't be flippant, darling. This is our last day together. Let's not play a waltz at an open grave."