It
hovered, delicately poised for flight.

"Euripides," she said, "had the deeper insight, then. He knew that
character is destiny."

"That character is destiny? Whose character? For all I know your
character may be my destiny."

It was one of those unconsidered speeches, flashed out in the heat of
argument, which nevertheless, once uttered are felt to be terrific and
momentous. He wondered how Miss Harden would take it. She took it (as
she seemed to take most things) calmly.

"No character could have any power over you except through your own."

"Perhaps not. All the same, you are not me, you are something outside.
You would be my destiny."

He paused again. Personalities were pitfalls which he must avoid. No
such danger existed for the lady; she simply ignored it; her mind
never touched those deeper issues of the discussion where his
floundered, perilously immersed. Still she was not unwilling to pursue
the theme.

"It all depends," said she, "on what you mean by destiny."

"Well, say I mean the end, the end I'm moving towards, the end I
ultimately arrive at--"

"Surely that depends on your character, your character, of course, as
a whole."

"It may or mayn't. It may depend on what I eat or don't eat for
dinner, on the paper I take in or the pattern of my waistcoat. And the
end may be utterly repellent to my character as a whole. Say I end by
adopting an unsuitable profession. Is that my character or my
destiny?"

"Your character, I think, or you wouldn't have adopted it."

"H'm. Supposing it adopts me?"

"It couldn't--against your will."

"No. But my will in this instance might not be the expression of my
character as a whole. Why, I may be doing violence to my character as
a whole by--by the unique absurdity that dishes me. That's destiny, if
you like, but it's not character--not my character, anyhow."

Personalities again. Whither could he flee from their presence? Even
the frigid realm of abstractions was shaken by the beating of his own
passionate heart. Her eyes had the allurements of the confessional; he
hovered, fascinated, round the holy precincts, for ever on the brink
of revelation. It was ungovernable, this tendency to talk about
himself. In another minute--But no, most decidedly that was not what
he was there for.

If it came to that, what _was_ he there for? It was so incredible that
he should be there at all. And yet there he was going to stay, for
three weeks, and more. He had c