arest, what a
difference it would have made to me if that ounce of lead had gone an
inch wrong...."

"And you had been killed outright!"

"I didn't mean that. I meant the other way. Suppose it had missed, and I
had finished my walk with my eyes in my head, and come back here and got
an introduction to the girl I saw in the Park, and not known what to say
to her when I got it!"

"I should have known you at once."

"Dearest love, some tenses of verbs are kittle-cattle to shoe behind.
'Should have' is one of the kittlest of the whole lot. You would have
thought me an interesting author, and I should have sent you a copy of
my next book. And then we should have married somebody else."

"Where is the organ of nonsense in Poets' heads, I wonder. It must be
this big one, on the top."

"No--that's veneration. My strong point. It shows itself in the
readiness with which I recognise the Finger of Providence. I discern in
the nicety with which old Stephen's bullet did its predestined work a
special intervention on my behalf. A little more and I should have been
sleeping with my fathers, or have joined the Choir of Angels, or anyhow
been acting up to my epitaph to the best of my poor ability. A little
less, and I should have gone my way rejoicing, ascribing my escape from
that bullet to the happy-go-lucky character of the Divine disposition of
human affairs. I should never have claimed the attentions due to a
slovenly, unwholesome corpse...."

"You shall _not_ talk like that. Blaspheme as much as you like. I don't
mind blasphemy."

Adrian kissed the palm of the hand that stopped his mouth, and continued
speech, under drawbacks. "An intelligent analysis will show that my
remarks are reverential, not blasphemous. You will at least admit that
there would have been no Mrs. Bailey."

Gwen removed her hand. "None whatever! Yes, you may talk about Mrs.
Bailey. There would have been no Mrs. Bailey, and I should never have
lain awake all night with your eyes on my conscience.... Yes--the night
after mamma and I had tea with you...."

"My eyes on your conscience! Oh--my eyes be hanged! Would I have my eyes
back now?--to lose _you_! Oh, Gwen, Gwen!--sometimes the thought comes
to me that if it were not for my privation, my happiness would be too
great to be borne--that I should scarcely dare to live for it, had the
price I paid for it been less. What is the loss of sight for life to set
against...."

"Are you aware, good man, t