The Man Who Rose Again

"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."