omoplate of a bison was clubbed by the superior person of his day who could not draw for nuts)—­in spite of Aristotle and the rest of the theorists, I assert that, as far as my experience goes, in the ordinary wary modern life to which we are accustomed, doom and inevitableness do not matter a hang.  If we have any common-sense we can dodge them.  Most of us do.  Of course, if a woman marries a congenital idiot there are bound to be ructions—­here we are entering the domain of pathology, which is as doomful as you please; but in our ordinary modern life ninety per cent. of the tragedies are determined by sheer million to one fortuities.  The history of our great criminal trials, for instance, is a romance of coincidence.  It is your melodramatist and not your Aristotelian purist that knows what he’s talking about when he writes a play.  He only has to look about him and draw what happens in real life.  That there may be an Eternal Puckish Malice arranging and deranging human destinies is another question.  I am neither a theologian nor a metaphysician, and I do not desire to discuss the subject.  I only maintain that, had it not been for sheer chance, Adrian’s secret would never have been discovered a second time.  I cannot see any doom about it.  A series of sheer, silly accidents on the part of Jaffery and myself had brought Doria face to face with these incriminating papers.  As for her having gained access to the flat without the porter’s knowledge, that had been calculation on her part.  She had watched at the street entrance until he had taken some one up in the lift, and then she had mounted the interminable stairs.

I could have caught Jaffery by letter at Genoa or Marseilles; but in view of his imminent return, I did not write to him.  What useful purpose would have been served?  He would have left the steamship Vesta and travelled post-haste overland, dragging with him a resentful Liosha, and rushed like a mad bull into an upheaval in which he could have no place.  We had arranged by correspondence that, after he had parted from the good Captain Maturin at Havre, he would come straight to us, in order to leave Liosha temporarily in our care.  For what else could be done with her?  Let him bring her, then, according to programme.  It would be far better, we agreed, Barbara and I, to let them fulfil their lunatic adventure undisturbed, and on Jaffery’s arrival at Northlands to break the disastrous tidings.  It would give us time to watch Doria and see what direction the resultant of the forces now tearing her soul would take.

“Let Jaffery stay away as long as possible,” said Barbara.  “I can’t be bothered with him.  I wish his old voyage could be extended for a year.”

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