Ann sat quietly enjoying the peaceful beauty of it all, oblivious to the hum of conversation around her. For the time being she lost that sense of fear and dread of the yacht which had so curiously obsessed her yesterday. Now it seemed but a component part of the beautiful scene--to shoreward, a ragged string of cottage lights climbing the hill-side, speaking of hearth and home and of rest after the day's labour, and beyond, the still, calm moon and tranquil bay, and the yacht, with its whiteness and sharp-cut shadows, lying motionless like some legendary vessel carved in alabaster. "What's your opinion, Ann?" The question startled her, severing the dreaming thread of her thoughts. She roused herself with a smile. "My opinion about what? I'm afraid I didn't hear what was being said." "About pains and penalties," explained Cara, "They sound unpleasant." "They are--very," agreed Lady Susan with her jolly laugh. "The question under discussion is whether we all eventually have to pay up for our misdeeds--even in this world." "I think we do--in some form or another," said Tempest quietly. "Only perhaps we don't always recognise the penalty, _as_ a penalty, when it comes." "Then it seems rather a waste, doesn't it?" suggested Brett idly. The rector's quiet eyes rested on the speaker. "I don't think so. If we recognised it as a punishment, we should probably resent it so much that it wouldn't do us any good--just as spanking doesn't really do a child any good but only rouses its naughty temper. Whereas when it comes unrecognised, even though it may be the outcome of our own mistaken actions, it educates and changes us--does, in fact, just what punishment is really designed to do, acts as a remedial force. I think God often works like that." "Only, sometimes, the sinner isn't the only one who pays," threw in Coventry shortly. "He's the only one who doesn't pay, generally speaking," answered Brett, with a grin. "He flourishes like a green bay tree instead. I never dream of paying for my sins," he added cheerfully. Tempest smiled--that tolerant, good-humoured smile of his which always took the sting out of anything he might say. "You're not at the end of life yet, Mr. Forrester," he observed quietly. Brett laughed. "Are you threatening me with an 'account rendered' of all my evil deeds--to he paid for in a sort of lump sum?" "Even that might be preferable to having your punishment spread out all over your life," said Cara, with a faint note of weariness in her voice which passed unnoticed by all except Coventry, who threw her a quick, searching glance. "Like thinly spread butter?" suggested Brett blithely. "Cara didn't say anything about it being thinly spread," retorted Ann, laughing. "I should think yours might be rather thick."