“I think so,” he said softly. “But if you are in any doubt, please begin by stating your own opinion, will you not?”
For a moment Mauney smoked in silence, reminded of Socrates.
“Yes,” he consented. “Now I think that enjoyment is comparatively incidental. A man has a duty to perform in the world, and he must perform it whether he enjoys doing so or not.”
“All right, Mauney,” smiled Freeman. “But won’t you admit that the motive that empowers you to perform your duty is the prospect of future enjoyment in seeing your task completed?”
“That, professor, is equivalent to saying that all effort is inspired by the hope of getting a thrill.”
“Well, isn’t it true? We are selfish at all times. We want the thrill. I don’t care where you take it. It’s the same principle everywhere. Socrates drank hemlock because it thrilled him to think he was abiding by the legal decision of his country. And even of Jesus Christ it is written: ‘For the joy that was set before him he endured the cross.’”
This last example came as a jolt to Mauney’s being. His thoughts drifted. There was a long pause before they resumed conversation. For an hour they continued. To whatever argument they turned—and they turned to several—Mauney felt that, while he was consistently defeated in a superficial sense, he was victorious in a deeper sense that Freeman could not, or would not, grasp. As in their previous conversations, they eventually arrived at the blind, stone wall of nullity, where Freeman’s declared position was one of absolute mental helplessness, and Mauney’s one of undeclared boredom and impatience.
When at last he heard Lorna playing downstairs, he rose and took leave of the professor.
Why had he come so eagerly to-night? The question forced him to pause on the lower steps of the staircase. In the drawing-room he saw her seated by the piano. The riddle of his attraction faded out of his thoughts as he leaned on the banister to watch and listen. She was absorbed in the skilful rendering of a scale-infested classic. Although her hands, like racing elves, flew with dexterous speed upon the ivory keys, her body was reposefully still, her chin slightly lifted, her eyes viewing the performance like impartial critics. When she finished, quite unconscious of Mauney’s presence, and picked up her kerchief from the music holder to rub her hands, he remained on the steps spell-bound with admiration. Then she turned her head and, as she saw him, rose gracefully, but with much coloring of her face.