‘I am quite willing to bear it.’
A smile flickered round the Huxtable’s nose, and Mr. Cato felt that he was being betrayed into melodrama. Silence ensued.
‘Your sentiments are very noble, Mr. Cato,’ said Huxtable at last. ‘I should say that they did you every credit, if it were your own fortune that we were talking about. But it is not. And if you think it over, you will see that your conduct lies open to the very gravest criticism. By a series of unusual circumstances you find yourself practically master of the disposal of a vast fortune belonging to someone else. Instead of accepting an excellent offer for the benefit of the person whose interests you for some reason claim the right of defending, you go off at a tangent in pursuit of your own political theories.’
‘Political theories?’
‘Yes, sir; political theories. Your views are well known. You regard the ways of the money market as immoral; you preach saintliness in the conduct of business; you think our social and financial system a mistake; you are, in fact, opposed to our civilisation as you find it. Those are your politics. Excellent! Charming! That is what makes your speeches a success. Moreover, you have a perfect right to practise your theories with your own property if you please. This Sermon-on-the-Mount way of doing business would make you a delightful customer in the City, no doubt. But when it comes to Prince Dwala’s affairs, the case is different. You are in the position of a trustee.’
‘Then is a trustee to be without a conscience?’
‘Certainly not; that’s just the point. I wonder you mention it. A trustee’s conscience ought to be a very delicate affair.’
‘Do you mean to insinuate that I have acted without conscience?’
‘I don’t insinuate it, sir; I say it straight out. You have acted unconscientiously.’
‘You have the insolence to say that!’ cried Mr. Cato, jumping up, with tears of fury in his voice. ‘You dare to sit there and tell me I have no conscience; you ... you damnable young prig!’