'What do you mean by scope?' inquired Godwin.
'Scope? Scope? Why, room to expand. The vice of our society is hypocrisy; it comes of over-crowding. When a man isn't allowed to be himself, he takes refuge in a mean imitation of those other men who appear to be better off. That was what sent me off to South America. I got into politics, and found that I was in danger of growing dishonest, of compromising, and toadying. In the wilderness, I found myself again.--Do you seriously believe that happiness can be obtained by ignoring one's convictions?'
He addressed the question to both, snuffing the air with head thrown back.
'What if you have no convictions?' asked Peak.
'Then you are incapable of happiness in any worthy sense! You may graze, but you will never feast.'
The listeners joined in laughter, and Malkin, after a moment's hesitation, allowed his face to relax in good-humoured sympathy.
'Now look here!' he cried. 'You--Earwaker; suppose you sent conscience to the devil, and set yourself to please Runcorn by increasing the circulation of your paper by whatever means. You would flourish, undoubtedly. In a short time you would be chief editor, and your pockets would burst with money. But what about your peace of mind? What about happiness?'
'Why, I'm disposed to agree with Peak,' answered the journalist. 'If I _could_ take that line, I should be a happier man than conscientiousness will ever make me.'
Malkin swelled with indignation.
'You don't mean it! You are turning a grave argument into jest!--Where's my hat? Where the devil is my hat? Send for me again when you are disposed to talk seriously.'
He strode towards the door, but Earwaker arrested him with a shout.
'You're leaving your pipe!'
'So I am. Where is it?--Did I tell you where I bought this pipe?'
'No. What's the wood?'
On the instant Malkin fell into a cheerful vein of reminiscence. In five minutes he was giving a rapturous description of tropical scenes, laughing joyously as he addressed now one now the other of his companions.
'I hear you have a mind to see those countries, Mr. Peak,' he said at length. 'If you care for a travelling companion--rather short-tempered, but you'll pardon that--pray give me the preference. I should enjoy above all things to travel with a man of science.'
'It's very doubtful whether I shall ever get so far,' Godwin replied, musingly.
And, as he spoke, he rose to take leave. Earwaker's protest that it was not yet ten o'clock did not influence him.
'I want to reflect on the meaning of happiness,' he said, extending his hand to Malkin; and, in spite of the smile, his face had a sombre cast.
The two who were left of course discussed him.
'You won't care much for Peak,' said Earwaker. 'He and I suit each other, because there's a good deal of indifferentism in both of us. Moral earnestness always goes against the grain with him; I've noticed it frequently.'
'I'm sorry I spoke so dogmatically. It wasn't altogether good manners. Suppose I write him a short letter, just expressing my regret for having been led away'--
'Needless, needless,' laughed the journalist. 'He thinks all the better of you for your zeal. But happiness is a sore point with him; few men, I should think, have known less of it. I can't imagine any circumstances which would make him thoroughly at peace with himself and the world.'
'Poor fellow! You can see something of that in his face. Why doesn't he get married?'
'A remarkable suggestion!--By the way, why don't _you_?'.
'My dear boy, there's nothing I wish more, but it's a business of such fearful precariousness. I'm one of those men whom marriage will either make or ruin. You know my characteristics; the slightest check upon my independence, and all's up with me. The woman I marry must be perfectly reasonable, perfectly good-tempered; she must have excellent education, and every delicacy of breeding. Where am I to find this paragon?'
'Society is open to you.'
'True, but I am not open to society. I don't take kindly to the people of my own class. No, I tell you what--my only chance of getting a suitable wife is to train some very young girl for the purpose. Don't misunderstand me, for heaven's sake! I mean that I must make a friendship with some schoolgirl in whose education I can have a voice, whose relatives will permit me to influence her mind and develop her character. What do you think of this idea?'
'Not bad, but it demands patience.'
'And who more patient than I? But let us talk of that poor Mrs. Jacox and her girls. You feel that you know them pretty well from my letters, don't you? Nothing more monstrous can be imagined than the treatment to which this poor woman has been subjected! I couldn't have believed that such dishonesty and brutality were possible in English families of decent position. Her husband deserted her, her brother robbed her, her sister-in-law libelled her,--the whole story is nauseating!'
'You're quite sure that she tells you the truth?'
Malkin glared with sudden resentment.
'The truth? What! you also desire to calumniate her? For shame, Earwaker! A poor widow toiling to support herself in a foreign country, with two children dependent on her.'
'Yes, yes, yes; but you seem to know very little of her.'
'I know her perfectly, and all her circumstances!'
Mrs. Jacox was the mother of the two girls whom Malkin had escorted to Rouen, after an hour or so of all but casual acquaintance. She and her history had come in a very slight degree under the notice of certain good-natured people with whom Malkin was on friendly terms, and hearing that the children, Bella and Lily, aged fourteen and twelve respectively, were about to undertake alone a journey to the Continent, the erratic hero felt it incumbent upon him to see them safe at their mother's side. Instead of returning forthwith, he lingered in Normandy for several weeks, striking off at length, on the summons of a friend, to Orleans, whence he was only to-day returned. Two or three letters had kept Earwaker informed of his movements. Of Mrs. Jacox he wrote as he now spoke, with compassionate respect, and the girls, according to him, were exquisite models of budding maidenhood.
'You haven't told me,' said Earwaker, calmly fronting the indignant outburst, 'what her circumstances are--at present.'
'She assists an English lady in the management of a boardinghouse,' Malkin replied, with an air which forbade trivial comment. 'Bella and Lily will of course continue their studies. I daresay I shall run over now and then to see them.'
'May I, without offence, inquire if either of these young ladies seems suitable for the ideal training of which you spoke?'
Malkin smiled thoughtfully. He stood with his legs apart and stroked his blond beard.
'The surmise is not unnatural. Well, I confess that Bella has inspired me with no little interest. She is rather mature, unfortunately; I wish she had been Lily's age. We shall see; we shall see.'
Musing, he refilled his pipe, and gossip was prolonged till something after one o'clock. Malkin was never known to retire willingly from an evening's congenial talk until the small hours were in progress.
Peak, on reaching home about eleven, was surprised to see a light in