know, are, for the most part, the things they do, but mine are all the things I don't do. There are so many of those, so many, but they don't produce any effect. And then all the rest are shades—extremely fine shades."
"Shades of behaviour?" Nick inquired, with an interest which surprised his sister; Mr. Nash's discourse striking her mainly as the twaddle of the under-world.
"Shades of impression, of appreciation," said the young man, with his explanatory smile. "My only behaviour is my feelings."
"Well, don't you show your feelings? You used to!"
"Wasn't it mainly those of disgust?" Nash asked, "Those operate no longer. I have closed that window."
"Do you mean you like everything?"
"Dear me, no! But I look only at what I do like."
"Do you mean that you have lost the faculty of displeasure?"
"I haven't the least idea. I never try it. My dear fellow," said Gabriel Nash, "we have only one life that we know anything about: fancy taking it up with disagreeable impressions! When, then, shall we go in for the agreeable?"
"What do you mean by the agreeable?" Nick Dormer asked.
"Oh, the happy moments of our consciousness—the multiplication of those moments. We must save as many as possible from the dark gulf."
Nick had excited a certain astonishment on the part of his sister, but it was now Biddy's turn to make him open his eyes a little. She raised her sweet voice and inquired of Mr. Nash—
"Don't you think there are any wrongs in the world—any abuses and sufferings?"
"Oh, so many, so many! That's why one must choose."
