t," replied Elgar, as if
he slightly resented this interference with his private affairs.

Yet he had yesterday, in the flow of his good-humour, all but confessed
that it was high time he looked out for an income. Mallard examined him
askance. The other, aware of this scrutiny, put on a smile, and said
with an air of self-conquest:

"But you are right; I have every reason to trust your advice. I'll tell
you what, Mallard. To-morrow I'll drive to Salerno, take the train to
Naples, pack my traps, and relieve Miriam's mind by an assurance that
I'm going to work in your company; then at once come back here."

"I don't see the need of going to Naples. Write a letter. Here's paper;
here's pen and ink."

Elgar was again mute. His companion, in an access of intolerable
suffering, cried out vehemently:

"Can't you see into yourself far enough to know that you are paltering
with necessity? Are you such a feeble creature that you must be at the
mercy of every childish whim, and ruin yourself for lack of courage to
do what you know you ought to do? If instability of nature had made
such work of me as it has of you, I'd cut my throat just to prove that
I could at least once make my hand obey my will!"

"It would be but the final proof of weakness," replied Elgar, laughing.
"Or, to be more serious, what would it prove either one way or the
other? If you cut your throat, it was your destiny to do so; just as it
was to commit the follies that led you there. What is all this nonsense
about weak men and strong men? I act as I am bound to act; I refrain as
I am bound to refrain. You know it well enough."

This repeated expression of fatalism was genuine enough. It manifested
a habit of his thought. One of the characteristics of our time is that
it produces men who are determinists by instinct; who, anything but
profound students or subtle reasoners, catch at the floating phrases of
philosophy and recognize them as the index of their being, adopt them
thenceforth as clarifiers of their vague self-consciousness. In certain
moods Elgar could not change from one seat to another without its being
brought to his mind that he had moved by necessity.

"What if that be true?" said Mallard, with unexpected coldness. "In
practice we live as though our will were free. Otherwise, why discuss
anything?"

"True. This very discussion is a part of the scheme of things, the
necessary antecedent of something or other in your life and mine. I
shal