his feet. Why he's not Chinese
I can't conceive; why he dines out every night I can. He's a human
cruet-stand without the oil. He's so monstrously intelligent that he
knows what a beast he is, and doesn't mind. Not a bad set of people to
talk with, unless Lady Holme was in a temper and you were next to her,
or you were left stranded with Holme when the women went out of the
dining-room."

"You think Holme a poor talker?" asked Sir Donald.

"Precious poor. His brain is muscle-bound, I believe. Robin, you know
I'm miserable to-night you offer me nothing to drink."

"I beg your pardon. Help yourself. And, Sir Donald, what will you--?"

"Nothing, thank you."

"Try one of those cigars."

Sir Donald took one and lit it quietly, looking at Carey, who seemed to
interest him a good deal.

"Why are you miserable, Carey?" said Pierce, as the former buried his
moustache in a tall whisky-and-soda.

"Because I'm alive and don't want to be dead. Reason enough."

"Because you're an unmitigated egoist," rejoined Pierce.

"Yes, I am an egoist. Introduce me to a man who is not, will you?"

"And what about women?"

"Many women are not egoists. But you have been dining with one of the
most finished egoists in London to-night."

"Lady Holme?" said Sir Donald, shifting into the left-hand corner of the
sofa.

"Yes, Viola Holme, once Lady Viola Grantoun; whom I mustn't know any
more."

"I'm not sure that you are right, Carey," said Pierce, rather coldly.

"What!"

"Can a true and perfect egoist be in love?"

"Certainly. Is not even an egoist an animal?"

Pierce's lips tightened for a second, and his right hand strained itself
round his knee, on which it was lying.

"And how much can she be in love?"

"Very much."

"Do you mean with her body?"

"Yes, I do; and with the spirit that lives in it. I don't believe
there's any life but this. A church is more fantastic to me than the
room in which Punch belabours Judy. But I say that there is spirit in
lust, in hunger, in everything. When I want a drink my spirit wants it.
Viola Holme's spirit--a flame that will be blown out at death--takes
part in her love for that great brute Holme. And yet she's one of the
most pronounced egoists in London."

"Do you care to tell us any reason you may have for saying so?" said Sir
Donald.

As he spoke, his voice, brought into sharp contrast with the changeful
and animated voice of Carey, sounded almost preposterously thin and worn