Was this indeed the night over which his imagination had gloated for months?
Was it indeed possible that this was the very night following the day--Thursday--for which he had engaged himself in accordance with the letter that he still carried in his pocket?
How on earth did it come that he was sitting with his arm over the bulwarks of a yacht instead of----Oh, the thing was a miracle--a miracle! He could think of it in no other light than that of a miracle.
Well, if it were a miracle, it had been the work of God, and God had to be thanked for it.

He had explained to Phyllis once that he thought of God only as a Principle--as the Principle which worked in opposition to the principle of nature.

That was certainly the God which had been evolved out of modern civilization.

The pagan gods had been just the opposite.

They had been founded on natural principles.