Rightly or wrongly, many who
know me believe I have gifts above the ordinary; they have told me that
if I will, I can have a notable parliamentary career. Possibly they are
right--I do not know. But I realise, even in spite of my creed, that the
motive is insufficient. Besides, I cannot help laughing at the whole
political world. The great bulk of our political magnates have no sense
of humour, but they are irresistibly funny nevertheless. I can see that
they are only pawns in the game, although they think they are of great
importance, and then----"

He stopped, and took two or three steps towards the window; then he
returned and, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece, went on speaking.

"I have been wondering during the last few weeks whether I have not been
blind to a very real world," he said. "This I know: I have been simply
longing to believe in things the existence of which I have denied. I
have wanted to believe in a final Will, a final Beneficence; I have
wanted to believe that we are not the playthings of a blind chance, and
that what we call disorder and discord are but the preludes to a divine
Harmony. With that longing has come another and this is a selfish
longing. It is to play something like a worthy part on the stage of
life. Sometimes this longing scarcely exists; sometimes it grows strong
and clamorous. There are times when I believe that I, even I, can live a
life that is really worth the living. This belief is only a new-born
child. It is sickly, and lacks vitality, but it exists.

"No, no, bear with me a few minutes longer. I know I have chosen a poor
subject to talk about, but then I confess myself to be an egotist. I,
like every other man, regard myself as the only person worth talking
about; so please forgive me. But do not mistake me. I do not pose as a
good man, or a worthy man. I still doubt whether such exists; but there
are times when I have strange longings, and these longings sometimes,
though rarely, become a kind of belief that I, worthless, faithless as I
am, can live a life which is worth the living."

He was silent a few seconds, and seemed at a loss how to proceed, while
Olive Castlemaine sat, scarcely realising the true condition of affairs,
at the same time feeling the masterfulness of the man who spoke to her.

"Perhaps you are hardly interested to know the reason for this," he went
on, "nevertheless I must tell you. You are the reason."

Olive glanced up like one startled.