"Look here, my dear, exemplary friends, who are so anxious for my moral reclamation," said Leicester in his quiet, mocking tone, "I've made a statement, and I'll stand by it. I'm not a marrying man, as you know; still I am willing to sacrifice my own feelings for the good of my fellows. So, then, pick out your most pious and high-principled young woman; Sunday-school teacher preferred, warranted to be sound in doctrine, and having a proper horror of men like myself. Choose her carefully, and I'm prepared to prove my words."
"If she'll have you."
"That's the point. I maintain that neither orthodoxy of life nor conduct weigh with women as long as the suitor has the qualifications I have mentioned. Now it is believed, rightly or wrongly, that I am going to have what is commonly called a brilliant career. Well, choose your most pattern young woman—she must be what is called a lady, of course, and I must stipulate that she is passably good-looking and is not penniless."
"And then?"
"I am prepared to put my views to the test. Of course, model young men like you would not think of a wager; but if I don't succeed—well, I'll give a hundred pounds to any religious cause you like to mention."
The man's eyes flashed with a new light. The plan he had sketched seemed to amuse and excite him.
"It's all nonsense," said Sprague.
"Test it," laughed Leicester.
He had apparently imbued the others with his own spirit. For the moment they were eager to see what would happen.
"Name your woman," went on Leicester. "What, are you afraid? Will you not support your doctrine of the nobility of women? I give it as my opinion that women are uniformly selfish, vain, and sordid. I maintain that what they want is a man who will give them position, name, prominence. Given that, and everything goes by the board. And I stand by it. I place a hundred pounds upon it. All I ask you to do is to name your woman."