of _that_ clumsiness. Ah for what do they take one, with _their_
beastly presumption? Even to defend myself sometimes I've to make
believe to myself that I care. I always feel as if I didn't successfully
make others think so. Perhaps they see impudence in that. But I daresay
the offence is in the things that I take, as I say, for granted; for if
one tries to be pleased one passes perhaps inevitably for being pleased
above all with one's self. That's really not my case--I find my capacity
for pleasure deplorably below the mark I've set. This is why, as I've
told you, I cultivate it, I try to bring it up. And I'm actuated by
positive benevolence; I've that impudent pretension. That's what I mean
by being the same to every one, by having only one manner. If one's
conscious and ingenious to that end what's the harm--when one's motives
are so pure? By never, _never_ making the concession, one may end by
becoming a perceptible force for good."

"What concession are you talking about, in God's name?" Nick demanded.

"Why, that we're here all for dreariness. It's impossible to grant it
sometimes if you wish to deny it ever."

"And what do you mean then by dreariness? That's modern slang and
terribly vague. Many good things are dreary--virtue and decency and
charity, and perseverance and courage and honour."

"Say at once that life's dreary, my dear fellow!" Gabriel Nash
exclaimed.

"That's on the whole my besetting impression."

"_Cest la que je vous attends!_ I'm precisely engaged in trying what can
be done in taking it the other way. It's my little personal experiment.
Life consists of the personal experiments of each of us, and the point
of an experiment is that it shall succeed. What we contribute is our
treatment of the material, our rendering of the text, our style. A sense
of the qualities of a style is so rare that many persons should
doubtless be forgiven for not being able to read, or at all events to
enjoy, us; but is that a reason for giving it up--for not being, in this
other sphere, if one possibly can, an Addison, a Ruskin, a Renan? Ah we
must write our best; it's the great thing we can do in the world, on the
right side. One has one's form, _que diable_, and a mighty good thing
that one has. I'm not afraid of putting all life into mine, and without
unduly squeezing it. I'm not afraid of putting in honour and courage and
charity--without spoiling them: on the contrary I shall only do them
good. People may n