lamps of the city made through the silvery mist lying on the river and
its adjacent marshes like some efflorescence of the moonlight.

"The difficulty is," he said, after a long silence, "that it's often so
hard to know what _is_ right."

"No, it isn't."

The flat contradiction brought a smile to the young man's lips as they
trudged onward.

"A good many people say so."

"A good many people say foolish things. It's hard to know what's right
chiefly when you're not in a hurry to do it."

"Aren't there exceptions to that rule?"

"I allowed for the exceptions. I said _chiefly_."

"But when you _do_ want to do it?"

"You'll know what it is. There'll be something to tell you."

"And this something to tell you? What do you call it?"

"Some call it conscience. Some call it God. Some call it neither."

Davenant reflected again.