The Man Who Rose Again. Hocking Joseph
courage, honesty," replied Olive.
"And which most?"
"Honesty."
"That is interesting. Might one ask why?"
"Because the other two do not exist without it."
Radford Leicester did not repress the answer that rose to his lips. He could not be altogether a hypocrite, even to carry out his plans.
"That is a very respectable tradition," he said.
"You do not believe it?"
"I would not try to destroy it for worlds," he said. "I can feel the whole constitution rattling about my ears at the very thought of its destruction."
"But you do not believe it?"
"What would you say if I told you I did not?"
"I should say that Tolstoi's life would prove you in the wrong."
"Have you ever considered what a complex thing humanity is, Miss Castlemaine? I have known honest men – that is, as honest men go – as timid as rabbits, and I have known scoundrels who have been as brave as lions. Is not human nature constantly laughing at us?"
"That is because our judgments are so shallow. We do not look beneath the surface."
"Yes, doubtless you are right. But my main objection to the so-called honest man is that he is so frightfully dull."
"To say the least of him, Tolstoi is not dull."
"Therefore he is not honest."
"Surely a sweeping conclusion from a very uncertain premiss."
"No, not uncertain."
"No? May I ask how you can prove it true?"
"By constantly meeting with men – and women."
"You mean that all the honest people you have met with are dull?"
"Pardon me, I am not sure I have ever met with an honest man. But I have met with those who are called honest, and – "
The girl looked at him steadily. She was not sure whether he was in earnest. It is true his face was perfectly serious, and yet she thought she detected a mocking tone in his voice.
"Children, for example," she said. "The most interesting children are those who are least self-conscious. The moment they become self-conscious and begin to act a part they cease to be attractive."
"Then you think that all but children are dull?"
"Why do you say so?"
"Because all grown-up people are acting a part."
"Again, are we not still on the surface?"
"No, we are down very deep. We are considering life. Life is simply acting a part. Why we act the parts we do is difficult to tell. Only I have noticed this: in life, as on the stage, those who elect to act the part of the good honest person are invariably dull. It is your villain who interests, and your villain who does the daring things – except in melodrama," he added quickly.
"What an unfortunate man you must be, Mr. Leicester," she said.
"Why?"
"Because you have been so unfortunate in the society you have frequented."
"Oh no, I have been singularly fortunate."
"Yes?"
"Yes, on the whole, I have found people wonderfully interesting."
What did he mean by talking in this fashion? Olive Castlemaine tried to answer the question, but was baffled. She was sure he was not such a little man as to pride himself upon breaking away from recognised rules of life simply for the sake of appearing odd. She was about to lead the conversation into another direction when a servant came bearing a card.
"Mr. Purvis," said John Castlemaine. "I wonder if he has had his dinner."
Olive Castlemaine and Radford Leicester looked at each other, they hardly knew why, and each thought that the other looked uncomfortable.
CHAPTER IV
A DOUBLE PERSONALITY
A few minutes later Purvis sat at the dinner-table. It appeared that he wished to see Mr. Castlemaine, and not knowing he would be engaged, had taken the liberty of calling. He seemed surprised at seeing Leicester there, but naturally said nothing. As for Leicester, his interest in the gathering seemed to evaporate at Purvis's entrance. He suddenly became rather moody, and when he spoke, addressed his remarks to Mr. Castlemaine rather than to his daughter. This evidently pleased Purvis, who became quite cheerful at Leicester's gloomy demeanour.
Presently dinner came to an end, when Olive went away into the drawing-room, while the men adjourned to the library. Mr. Lowry seemed rather annoyed at Purvis's presence, but made the best of the situation by talking to Mr. Castlemaine in low tones.
"You are abstemious to-night, Leicester," said Purvis.
"Indeed!"
"Yes, after all, you are not willing for her to know all the truth."
Leicester did not reply.
"Surely you are not going on with this business?"
"Else why am I here?"
"But you are to let her know your character in full."
"No man's character is known in full."
"But – but – "
"Look here, Purvis, I shall play the game. See that you do," and he gave the young man a glance which made him slightly uncomfortable.
"Of course – of course," he said nervously. "I don't like it. Still, there's no danger – that is, there will not be when she knows everything."
"Which you will see to."
"I shall tell her nothing of our conversation; as for the rest – well, there will be no need for me to tell her that."
Leicester gave the other a look which was almost angry.
"No," he said, "I daresay you are right. A man's so-called vices soon become public property. Of course," he went on, "you will talk with her about me."
"Why should I?"
"Oh, you will. You will let her know all the world says, and a little more."
"I say, Leicester."
"Oh, don't grow indignant, my dear fellow. I know the worth of your indignation; besides, I only wanted to tell you that you are quite at liberty to say what you like."
"You mean that?"
"Oh, certainly. Of course the wager is a secret. As for the rest, I authorise you to give your imagination full scope. I say, Purvis, I imagine Mr. Castlemaine and Mr. Lowry wish to talk with me about a private matter. I'm sure you don't mind, do you? and Miss Castlemaine will be lonely. I'm not in the least jealous, my dear fellow."
Mr. Castlemaine was much impressed with the way Leicester stated the affair which Mr. Lowry wished to bring before him. Everything was so carefully thought out, and so clearly expressed, that the man who was accustomed to deal with vast business enterprises was simply delighted. As he declared afterwards, it was quite an intellectual treat to talk with such a man. Besides, he made the conversation so interesting by introducing matters which appealed to John Castlemaine's tastes, that he felt like insisting on him staying the night. As a rule, whenever he talked of business matters in his own house, which was very seldom, he got through it as quickly as possible. But to-night all was different. When the business conversation came to an end, he still continued to talk.
"By the way," he remarked when Leicester had said something which more than ordinarily amused him, "my daughter ought to hear that, and we might as well go into the drawing-room. You've finished your cigar, haven't you?"
Leicester threw his cigar-end into the grate, and having finished his whisky, he followed his host.
They found Purvis eagerly talking with Miss Castlemaine, and Leicester knew the moment he entered that he had been the subject of their conversation. She gave him a quick, searching glance, as if she could