whole of it. But for that New Mud, Dave would not have gone to
the Hospital. But for the Hospital, he would never have excited a tender
passion in the breast of Sister Nora; would never have visited Granny
Marrowbone; would never have been sought for by The Aristocracy at his
residence in Sapps Court. Some may say that at this point nothing else
would have occurred but for the collapse of Mr. Bartlett's brickwork,
and that therefore the rarity of sound bricks in that conglomerate was
the _vera causa_ of the events that followed. But why not equally the
imperfection of old Stephen's aim at Achilles? If he had killed
Achilles, it is ten to one Gwen would have gone abroad with her mother,
instead of being spirited away to Cavendish Square by her cousin in
order that she should thereby become entangled in slums. Or for that
matter, why not the death of the Macganister More? Had he been living
still, Cousin Clo would never have visited Ancester Towers at all.

No--no! Depend upon it, it was the New Mud. But then, Predestination
would have been dreadfully put out of temper if, instead of imperious
impulsive Gwen, ruling the roast and the boiled, and the turbot with
_mayonnaise_, and everything else for that matter, some young woman who
could be pulverised by a reproof for Quixotism had been her understudy
for the part, and she herself had had mumps or bubonic plague at the
time of the accident. In that case Predestination would hardly have
known which way to turn, to get at some sort of compromise or
accommodation that would square matters. For there can be no reasonable
doubt that what did take place was quite in order, and that--broadly
speaking--everyone had signed his name over the pencil marks, and filled
in his witness's name and residence, in the Book of Fate. If Gwen's
understudy had been called on, there would have been--to borrow a
favourite expression of Uncle Mo's--a pretty how-do-you-do, on the part
of Predestination.

Fortunately no such thing occurred, and Predestination's powers of
evasion were not put to the test. The Decrees of Fate were fulfilled as
usual, and History travelled on the line of least resistance, to the
great gratification of The Thoughtful Observer. In the case of lines of
compliance with the will of Gwen, there was no resistance at all. Is
there ever any, when a spoiled young beauty is ready to kiss the
Arbiters of Destiny as a bribe, rather than give way about a whim,
reasonable or unreaso