"It's the best of all possible worlds," retorted Beaumont cynically. "I agree with M. Voltaire--besides, the world always takes you at your own valuation; smile, and it smiles; frown, and it looks grim; each man is a mirror to another, and gives back the reflection he receives."
"What cold-blooded philosophy."
"No doubt, but a very necessary philosophy," retorted Beaumont in a good-humoured tone; "it's ridiculous to bring the simplicity of Arcady to Rome. France tried it under the Fourteenth Louis, and the experiment ended in the guillotine and the Carmagnole."
The train was now moving off, so he shook hands with the young man through the open window of the carriage.
"Good-bye," said Reginald heartily, "when you come to Garsworth, I'll be glad to see you, my friend."
"Friend," echoed Beaumont with an evil smile, as the long train steamed away, "next time you see me it will be as your master."
[CHAPTER XXXV.]
A VOICE FROM THE PAST.
Only a woman's heart--indeed;
A sacred thing to you, you say,
To me, a toy, with which to play.
Ah, well, let each hold fast his creed.
What matter should it chance to bleed,
Is it a man's cut finger?--nay,
Only a woman's heart.