“I should have thought the knave had more of your sympathy,” said the other.
“Inasmuch as he follows the queen, I suppose,” said Linton, good-humoredly, laughing. “But come, don't look so grave, old fellow; had I been a political intrigant, and devoted these goodly talents of mine to small state rogueries in committees and adjourned debates, I'd have been somebody in these dull times of aspiring mediocrity; but as my ambitions have never soared beyond the possession of what may carry on the war of life, irrespective of its graver honors, you moralists—Heaven bless the mark!—rather regard me distrustfully. Now, let me tell you a secret, and it's one worth the knowing. There's nothing so fatal to a man's success in life as 'a little character;' a really great one may dispense with every kind of ability and acquirement. Get your name once up in our English public, and you may talk, preach, and write the most rank nonsense with a very long impunity; but a little character, like a small swimming bladder, only buoys you up long enough to reach deep water and be drowned. To journey the road of life with this is to 'carry weight' Take my advice,—I give it in all sincerity; you are as poor a man as myself; there are thousands of luxuries you can afford yourself, but this is too costly an indulgence for a small fortune. Your 'little character' is a kind of cankering conscience, not strong enough to keep you out of wickedness, but sufficiently active to make you miserable afterwards. An everlasting suggester of small scruples, it leaves a man no time for anything but petty expedients and devices, and you hang suspended all your life between desire and denial, without the comfort of the one or the credit of the other.”
“Is the sermon over?” said Lord Charles, rather affectedly than really feeling tired of the “tirade,” “or are you only rehearsing the homily before you preach it to Roland Cashel?”
“Quite wrong there, my Lord,” said Linton, with the same imperturbable temper. “Cashel is rich enough to afford himself any caprice, even a good name, if he like it You and I take ours as we do railway tickets, any number that's given us!” And with this speech, delivered in an air of perfect quietude, but still emphatically slow, he settled his hat on before the glass, arranged his whiskers, and walked away.
Lord Charles, for a second, seemed disposed to make an angry reply, but, correcting the impulse, he walked to the window in silence. “I have half a mind to spoil your game, my worthy friend,” muttered he, as the other passed across the court-yard; “one word to Cashel would do it To be sure it is exploding the mine with one's own hand to the fusee; that's to be thought of.” And, so saying, he lay down on the sofa to ruminate.
CHAPTER XV. AT THE GAMING TABLE.
“Not half so skilled in means and ways,
The 'hungry Greek' of classic days
His cards with far less cunning plays
Than eke our modern sharper!”
When Linton had determined within himself to make Cashel “his own,” his first care was to withdraw him from the daily society of the Kennyfecks, by whose familiar intercourse a great share of influence was already enjoyed over their young guest. This was not so easy a task as he had at first imagined. Cashel had tasted of the pleasant fascination of easy intimacy with two young and pretty girls, eagerly bent on being agreeable to him. He was in all the full enjoyment of that rare union, the pleasure of being at home and yet an honored guest; and it was only when Linton suggested that late hours and irregular habits were but little in accordance with the decorous propriety of a family, that Cashel yielded, and consented to remove his residence to a great furnished house in “Stephen's Green,” where some bygone Chancellor once held his state.
Linton well knew that if “Necessity” be the mother of invention, “Propinquity” is the father of love; that there is nothing so suggestive of the tender passion as that lackadaisical state to which lounging at home contributes, and the chance meetings with a pretty girl. The little intercourse on the stairs going down to breakfast, the dalliance in the conservatory, the chit-chat before dinner, are far more formidable than all the formal meetings under the blaze of wax-lights, and amid the crush of white satin.