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
scarcely believe what Purvis had been telling her. The look made him
angry. He had told Purvis that he was at liberty to make known his
character, and yet he keenly resented his communication. There had been
times when he had taken pleasure in his peculiar reputation; but to-day
everything seemed different. Still Leicester was not a man who shrunk
from a difficult situation; indeed, he presently found himself possessed
with a sort of savage joy, as he found himself uttering sentiments which
had become commonplaces to men of his way of thinking. Moreover, he
seemed desirous of showing Purvis that he did not desire to hide from
Miss Castlemaine the kind of man he really was.
"I hear you are making great progress in your constituency down in
Devonshire, Leicester," said Purvis.
"Oh yes, we are enjoying ourselves hugely down there," was the reply.
"For my own part, I do not find it fun to nurse a constituency," said
Purvis.
"That's because you do not look on the humorous side of the question,"
replied Leicester. "When one regards the whole business in the same
light as that in which a boy plays a game of marbles, it is great fun."
"I cannot think of the Government of my country in that light," said
Purvis loftily.
"No," said Leicester quietly; "well, tastes differ. Politics are just
what you make them, comedy or serious drama. And I prefer comedy."
"Thus it too often becomes a fiasco. A man becomes a member of
Parliament for the good of his country. He sacrifices his time and money
for the welfare of his fellow-creatures. At least he should. I know of
no higher calling than to be a legislator in one's own land. It is not
fun, it is duty."
"The greatest comedy I know of," said Leicester, "is the pretence to be
serious. I never laugh so immoderately as I do at so-called serious
drama. One can so easily see the make-up of the whole business. The
passion, the pathos, the high moral sentiment, the remorse, it is all
got up for the occasion--and it is great fun."
"But politics are different from the drama."
"Are they? I have never had much to do with the dramatic world, but I am
told that managers run theatres to make money for themselves by amusing
the spectators. When comedy fails, they try tragedy. Politics are pretty
much the same. Politicians put pieces on the stage to amuse the
spectators, and there-by benefit themselves. When they fail to obtain
the support of the audience--well, they are kicked off the stage and
another set of actors put on."
"Only in politics the actors don't make money."
"No," said Leicester quietly, "they don't, at least not many. But they
are inspired by the same motive as the actor is."
"And that?"
"Self, my dear fellow, self. The _bona fide_ actor is generally poor,
and he seeks money and popularity. The politician does not always want
money, but he wants fame. He wants to lift his head above the crowd, he
wants to be mentioned in the newspapers, he wants to be singled out as
he passes along the stage of life. Does the actor care a fig about the
welfare of the spectators? All he wants is their money and their
applause. Does the politician care a fig about the welfare of the voter?
Still, it's great fun."
"Come, come, Mr. Leicester," said Mr. Lowry, "it wouldn't do for the
people down at Taviton to hear you say such things."
"Exactly," said Leicester; "the people like to be fooled. Therefore the
best thing is to fool them. Besides, is it not all a part of one great
show? We are puppets on the stage of life, and we have to play our part.
And each plays it with his eye on the audience."
"Personally," said Purvis, "I should not spend time and money for such a
purpose. I know it may sound like boasting; but I would give up politics
to-morrow but for the good of my country."
"Some time ago," said Leicester mockingly, "I was invited to speak at a
political meeting, to assist the candidature of a young politician, who
is supposed to be filled with very noble sentiments. I went and listened
to this young politician. During his speech a man interrupted. The
speaker tried to answer him, and failed. The man continued his
interruption. At last some one shouted, 'Don't trouble about him, he
hasn't got a vote.' Immediately this young, high-souled politician said,
'I came to speak to electors, not to men who have no vote, and therefore
no stake in the country.' Exactly. But think a moment. Who was this
interrupter? He was a man with a life to live. He had his burdens to
bear and his battles to fight. But he was not a voter, he could not help
to send him to Parliament, therefore----" and Leicester shrugged his
shoulders.
During this speech Purvis looked more and more angry. The blood mounted
to his face and he shifted in his seat. Moreover, he saw that the eyes
of the others were upon him, which did not add to his comfort.
"Yes, it's great fun," went on Leicester, "this acting on the great
stage of life while the audience cheers or groans, as the case may be.
But as to motives--well, let them pass."
"But, Mr. Leicester," said Olive, who had keenly enjoyed the
conversation, partly because she was not sure whether Leicester was
serious or only joking, "are you not forgetting that there are
conscientious artists? Are there not artists who live for their art and
care nothing about praise or blame?"
"Is not that another form of selfishness?" remarked Leicester.
"But surely, Leicester," said Purvis, "you do not mean that you confess
to these sordid motives;--that you regard politics as only a game to
play, in order to win applause? Do you mean to say that you are no
better than the crowd you describe?"
"My dear fellow, I am a great deal better, for the simple truth that I
am honest. I don't profess to having these high sentiments which some
boast of."
"The last time I heard you speak," said Purvis, "you spoke in no
measured terms of the present Government. You declared it to be the
bounden duty of the country to thrust it from power. Why did you say
this if one party is as good as another, and all men uniformly selfish?"
"Because they do not play the game well," replied Leicester quietly;
"because they make false moves, and because it grates upon one's
artistic feelings to see a thing done badly. I would for the same reason
hoot an orchestra off a platform for making discords. To begin with, the
present Government have a very poor piece, and, secondly, they play it
very badly. Miss Castlemaine," he added, turning to Olive, "please
forgive us for talking in this way; but you see we are all alike. All
men talk shop, just the same as women do."
"The part you are acting now is very interesting to me," said Olive,
with a laugh.
"And to me also," said Leicester, looking at Purvis. "Indeed, when one
comes to think of it, all parts played seriously, especially when a
great deal depends on the way one plays them, are tremendously
interesting."
"Then you admit you are acting a part?"
"Are we not all acting a part?" replied Leicester.
"And for the amusement of the audience?"
"And for selfish purposes? Else why do we act?"
The girl looked at him steadily, as if trying to read his thoughts. That
she was interested in him she had to admit, not so much because of what
he said, as because of his strong personality. She could not help
feeling that he was the dominating influence in the room. She did not
believe in the opinions to which he had given expression, neither did
she believe that he believed in them; nevertheless he uttered them with
such an air of conviction that he impressed her in spite of herself.
"My reading of life is utterly different from yours," she said
presently. "Did Charles Lamb act a part when he sacrificed the woman he
loved and the life he hoped to live in order to give his life to protect
his poor mad sister?"
"Charles Lamb has never ceased to be praised since he did it," remarked
Leicester.
"But he never thought of the praise at the time," said Olive.
"No, I will admit that you've brought a strong exception which proves
the rule," said Leicester, "and yet poor Lamb was a drunkard."
He looked at Purvis as he spoke, as if to remind him that he was playing
his part fairly.
"Of course that was a terrible weakness of Lamb's," said Olive, "and yet
one cannot help feeling kindly towards him. He was so penitent, so
contrite; besides, he has gladdened the world by his bright, cheery
outlook on life. Even from your standpoint, the man who looks for the
evil in life plays his part badly. It is he who looks for the good and
the beautiful that really helps the spectators."
"I think otherwise," remarked Leicester. "The doctor who exposes a
disease, and fights it, is he who is the greatest benefactor."
"To expose a disease without fighting it, on the other hand, is of but
little use," said Olive; "besides, it seems to me that the greatest
physician is he who teaches us to live such healthy lives that the
diseases find in us nothing to live on. The best remedy against the
encroachment of disease is strong, vigorous health."
"But how to obtain that strong, vigorous health, Miss Castlemaine, is
not that the great question?"
"By breathing pure air. By partaking of pure food, mental and moral, as
well as physical," she replied. "The conversation so far has made me
feel quite morbid."
John Castlemaine and Mr. Lowry laughed heartily, while Purvis heaved a
sigh of relief. He had wondered how this conversation affected Olive,
and he rejoiced that it had not pleased her. As for Leicester, he gave
her a quick glance of admiration. He was glad that Winfield had
mentioned her. Here at least was a woman better worth winning than any
he had ever seen. Again he felt ashamed of the conversation that had
taken place at the club, even while he was more than ever determined to
prove to Purvis and Sprague that he was right in his contention.
"At any rate, Purvis cannot accuse me of hiding my opinions," he said to
himself, and then he turned the course of the conversation.
During the rest of the evening Leicester seemed to forget his sad,
hopeless opinions, and he completely restored the good opinion which
John Castlemaine had formed concerning him at first, and which he had
well-nigh lost during the time when Leicester was giving expression to
his cynical views. And this was no wonder, for even Purvis himself was
well-nigh carried away by his cleverness. He spoke well concerning
current books and current events. He compared notes with Olive
concerning places both had visited and books which both had read. He
exerted himself to be agreeable, and he succeeded vastly. Perhaps the
atmosphere of the house helped him, perhaps he found in Olive one who
helped to restore his good opinion of womanhood; perhaps he realised his
determination to win his wager and obtain the promise of Olive
Castlemaine to be his wife. Be that as it may, the Radford Leicester of
the early part of the evening was not the Radford Leicester of the
latter.
Olive felt this. He reminded her of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. His dual
personality became somewhat of a problem. Which was the real man? Both
were interesting--almost fascinating. He was clever when the pessimistic
mood was upon him; he was far more clever when he became the student
and the scholar, talking brilliantly of books, of architecture, of art,
and of the struggling, troubled life of humanity.
Concerning religion he said nothing. Once or twice, when Olive
introduced the subject into their conversation, he avoided it. Perhaps
he shrank from expressing his lack of faith in those truths by which, to
Olive, all the opinions of men must be tested; but of other things he
spoke freely and well. Moreover, the girl helped him. Her
straightforwardness, her freedom from petty meannesses, and her wide,
intelligent outlook on life made him for the moment forget his
oft-expressed opinion of women. Besides, he had his part to play, and he
played it.
Presently a servant came saying that Mr. Lowry's motor-car was at the
door.
"You are not going up to town by train?" said Mr. Castlemaine.
"No, I had the car in London, and I thought I might as well use it,"
replied Mr. Lowry; "besides, I can get back quicker in the car."
"Yes," replied Mr. Castlemaine, "I suppose so; but, personally, I would
rather be behind a pair of good horses. I am really sorry you have to go
so soon," he said, turning to Leicester. "I am very glad to have met
you. I hope we shall see more of each other."
Purvis looked angrily at Leicester as he heard John Castlemaine say
this, but he said nothing; he was a little afraid.
"Are you going back to London, Purvis?" asked Leicester. "If you are,
I'm sure Mr. Lowry will be glad to give you a lift."
"Thank you," said Purvis; then, as an afterthought, he added, "I should
like a word with Mr. Castlemaine before I go. We have all been so
interested in Mr. Leicester's opinions that I had almost forgotten the
errand on which I came."
For a minute Leicester was alone with Olive.
"I have to thank you for a pleasant evening, Miss Castlemaine," he said,
"one of the few pleasant evenings of my life."
She looked up at him inquiringly.
"I mean what I say," he said. "While we were at dinner I told you that I
had found life very interesting. I told you a lie. Why I told it I don't
know. It slipped from my tongue before I realised what I was saying. I
have not found life interesting, I have found it anything but
that--anything. But this evening has been an oasis in the desert, and I
thank you."
"I am glad you have had a pleasant evening," said Olive quietly;
nevertheless she wondered how much truth there was in his words.
"You do not believe me," he said, "but what I say is perfectly true. I
do not find the stage of life very interesting to act on."
"Then it is best not to act," said Olive.
"That is not a matter of choice."
"I think it is. One can choose to play a part, or he can choose to live
a life."
"The same thing," he replied.
"Pardon me, I do not think so."
"All the same, I thank you for a pleasant evening. When one has very few
of them, it is a great deal to be thankful for."
There was something in the tones of his voice that convinced her that he
meant what he said. She reflected that his face was sad, and that there
was no joy in his eyes.
"Forgive me, a stranger, asking a question," he went on. "Do you find
life happy?"
"Exceedingly."
"That is interesting. I wish I knew your secret."
"By ceasing to play a part."
She had not meant to say this; but the words escaped her before she
realised them.
"How can one do that?"
"By seeking to serve the spectators, instead of pleasing them."
He laughed almost bitterly.
"If the spectators were only worth it," he said. He held out his hand.
"Good-night, Miss Castlemaine," he said; "thank you again very much."
He walked into the hall, where Mr. Lowry stood awaiting him.
"Is Purvis ready?"
"He is talking with Mr. Castlemaine."
Instinctively Leicester felt that he was the subject of the
conversation, and Leicester was right.
Purvis had explained his visit to Mr. Castlemaine in a very few words,
then he said, "A funny fellow--Leicester, isn't he?"
"He is no ordinary man," said Mr. Castlemaine. "He should have a great
career."
Purvis shook his head.
"You do not think so?"
"I do not deny his cleverness," said Purvis. "That is generally
recognised; but--but----"
"Oh, I take but little notice of his joking," said John Castlemaine,
"for he was joking."
"No, he was not joking."
"You mean that----"
"He believes in nothing--neither in God nor man. He does not believe in
the commonplaces of Christian morality. He makes a boast of his
atheism."
Mr. Castlemaine looked serious.
"That is a great pity for the poor fellow," he said.
"But that's not the worst," said Purvis.
"No?"
"No; it's an awful pity, but he's a hard drinker."
"Ah, I'm very sorry, for he struck me as a man with great
possibilities."
Mr. Castlemaine did not seem to enjoy Purvis's conversation, and he
moved into the hall, to bid his guests good-night.
During the ride to London Leicester was very silent. The car swept
swiftly along the now almost empty roads, and presently stood outside
the club where we first met the man whose story I am trying to tell.
Directly they entered the smoking-room, Leicester ordered a large
whisky, which he drank quickly. It seemed as though his abstinence at
Mr. Castlemaine's had caused cravings which he was eager to appease.
"Well," said Purvis presently, "you've taken the first step."
"Yes, I've taken the first step."
"I say, Leicester, give it up--it's not right."
Leicester shrugged his shoulders.
"Even if you succeeded it would be----"
"You mean that I am not worthy of her?"
"You know that yourself."
Leicester laughed.
"You see you rush to whisky the moment you get back."
"Well, she knows all about it."
"How?"
"You told her--and you told her father too."
Purvis's eyes dropped.
"Oh, don't be downcast, my dear fellow," said Leicester mockingly. "I
gave you liberty to tell them, and you took advantage of my permission.
And you told her all the rest, too. Oh, I know you well enough for that,
and on the whole I'm glad. But mind," and he rose to his feet like a man
in anger, "if you let on about the rest----"
"You mean the wager?"
"Call it what you like--if you or Sprague let on about that, then, to
quote your Bible, it were better that a millstone were hanged about your
neck, and you were cast into the depths of the sea."
Purvis shrank before the savage gleam of the man's eye.
"You--you surely don't mean that--that you are going on with--with this
business?"
"Yes, I am," replied Leicester. His voice was quiet, but he spoke like a
man in anger. "I am going on, and--and--if you do not play the
game--well, you know me, Purvis."
"Of course a promise is a promise," said Purvis; "all the same----"
"Go to bed, my son," said Leicester mockingly. "I think you'll be all
right now."
If Purvis had remained he would have been almost frightened at the look
which came into Leicester's eyes.