Blake laughed rather contemptuously.
"After all, there have been cases——"
"Perhaps—but I don't like such long odds."
"Well, we've had your gospel. Now let's hear how it's worked in your case. Are you satisfied with that, Caylesham?"
He spoke with a sneer that did not escape Caylesham's notice. It drew another smile from him.
"That's a home question—I didn't question you as straight as that. Well, I'll tell you. I won't pretend to feel what I don't feel; I'll tell you as truly as I can." He paused a moment. "I've had lots of fun," he went on. "I've always had plenty of money; I've never had any work to do; and I took my fun—lots of it. I didn't expect to get it for nothing, and I haven't got it for nothing. Sometimes I got it cheap, and sometimes, one way and another, it mounted to a very stiff figure. But I didn't shirk settling day; and if there are any more settling days, I won't shirk them if I can help it. I don't think I've got anything to complain about." He put his cigar back into his mouth. "No, I don't think I have," he ended, twisting the cigar between his teeth.
What a contempt for him young Blake had! Was ever man so ignorant of his true self? Was ever man so sunk in degradation and so utterly unconscious of it? Caylesham could look back on a life spent as his had been—could look back from the middle-age to which he had now come, and find nothing much amiss with it! Blake surveyed his grovelling form from high pedestals of courage and of wisdom—absolutely of virtue pure and undefiled.
"Nothing very ideal about that!"
"Good Lord, no! You wanted the truth, didn't you?"
"Well, I suppose I thought like that once—I was contented with that once."