s 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."

J