CHAPTER VIII.—A POOR LITTLE TRAGEDY.
Of the development of human phenomena, two truisms may be stated. First, a man can seldom gauge its progress, the self of to-day differing so infinitely little from the self of yesterday. And secondly, the climax is seldom reached by a man's own initiative. He seems blindly and unconsciously to depend upon that law of averages which assigns an indefinite number of external contingencies to act upon and to complete any given process.”
Raine had jotted down this among some rough notes for a series of lectures in Metaphysics he was preparing, when his father's voice broke a silence that had lasted nearly an hour.
“I am reading that letter you wrote to ——.”
“Which letter?” asked Raine.
As the old man did not reply at first, but continued reading the letter which he held out before him, Raine closed his note-book, and went round behind his father's chair, and looked over his shoulder.
“Oh, that one. You must have thought me idiotic. I half fancy I did it to puzzle you.”
“I wasn't puzzled, my dear boy. I guessed. And does the magnet still attract?”