e off just yet."

"Nevertheless," Wingrave admitted, "there are times when I fear that
we shall not get on together. I begin to suspect that you have a
conscience."

"You are the first," Aynesworth assured him, "who has ever flattered me
to that extent."

"It may be elastic, of course," Wingrave continued, "but I suspect its
existence. I warn you that association with me will try it hard."

"I accept the challenge," Aynesworth answered lightly.

"You are rasher than you imagine," Wingrave declared. "For instance,
I have admitted to you, have I not, that I am interested in my fellow
creatures, that I want to mix with them and watch them at their daily
lives. Let me assure you that that interest is not a benevolent one."

"I never fancied that you were a budding philanthropist," Aynesworth
remarked, lighting a fresh cigarette.

"I find myself," Wingrave continued thoughtfully, "in a somewhat unique
position. I am one of the ordinary human beings with whom the world
is peopled, but I am not conscious of any of the usual weaknesses of
sentiment or morality. For instance, if that gentleman with the red
face, who has obviously eaten and drunk too much, were to have an
apoplectic fit at the moment, and die in his chair, it would not shock
or distress me in the least. On the contrary, I should be disposed to
welcome his removal from a world which he obviously does nothing to
adorn."

Aynesworth glanced at the person in question. He was a theatrical agent
and financier of stock companies, whom he knew very well by sight.

"I suppose," Wingrave continued, "that I was born with the usual
moral sentiments, and the usual feelings of kinship towards my fellow
creatures. Circumstances, however, have wholly destroyed them. To me,
men have become the puppets and women the dancing dolls of life. My
interest in them, if it exists at all, is malevolent. I should like to
see them all suffer exactly as I have suffered. It would interest me
exceedingly."

Still Aynesworth remained silent. He was anxious to hear all that was in
the other's mind, and he feared lest any interruption might divert him.

"There are men in the world," Wingrave continued, "called
philanthropists, amiable, obese creatures as a rule, whose professed aim
in life it is to do as much good as possible. I take my stand upon the
other pole. It is my desire to encourage and to work as much evil as
possible. I wish to bring all the suffering I can upon those who c