‘Of course not,’ she answered seriously; but as they lingered round the quiet spot, where the silence was only broken by the murmuring of the magic spring, Phil began again to speak, and Roma fancied he was still thinking of his complex wish. ‘Now I want you to give me an opinion,’ he said, ‘for I am very much perplexed. Which should be the stronger claim upon us, the claim of justice or that of gratitude?’ ‘What do you mean?’ asked Roma. ‘It is a hard question, as you put it.’ ‘It is a hard question, put it as you will. I mean just what I say. When justice urges you to one course, and gratitude to another, which motive should be allowed to triumph?’ Roma’s brow became knit by a frown of perplexity. ‘It is not easy to decide without knowing more; but I think gratitude should be held very sacred.’ ‘And injustice allowed to go on?’ ‘Oh no; not quite that. Injustice can never, never be right. It should always be checked, if possible. Only gratitude should not be set on one side.’ ‘You answer by a paradox in this case. Either gratitude or justice must be set aside.’ ‘I cannot think but that both might be considered: there must be some right way of doing right—there always is. Can you not tell me more?’ ‘I can only tell you that one who was my friend, and to whom I owe much gratitude, has now turned traitor, and done me a grievous wrong. I must right myself before the world. I cannot submit to be defrauded of my all, to be made an outcast and a wanderer upon the face of the earth; but I can only do so by bringing disgrace upon the man I once loved well, and to whom I certainly owe a debt of gratitude.’ Roma pondered deeply. It seemed a hard case, and she scarcely knew what to advise. ‘Is there no middle course?’ ‘I fear he will not accept a compromise. What I know of his character, and what I have heard of his actions, lead me to suppose that he will fight to the death, and leave me no option but to expose and disgrace him.’ ‘I suppose you have come to England for legal advice,’ said Roma. ‘Yes, and to take a calm and dispassionate view of things. It is an unpleasant position to be placed in, is it not?’ ‘Very indeed.’ ‘And have you no advice for me?’ ‘I’m afraid I know so little of the world that mine would be sadly unpractical.’ ‘Perhaps unworldly counsel might be better than that of the law,’ answered Phil thoughtfully. ‘Let me hear what you have to suggest, Roma.’ ‘Have you so quarrelled with this friend that you could not get speech of him?’ ‘Well—no, hardly that yet, I think; for I have only just learnt the injury he has done me.’