“The world,” he replied, “craves for amusement. Left to its own resources it is a dull world, and is constantly growing duller. So its amusements must ever be increasing in pungency. Strong contrasts and mental vivisection are its intellectual pastimes, the cant of a spurious broad-mindedness which affects hesitation in condemning vice, since there is none who can claim virtue, and at the same time prejudges the maligned for a like reason. Our modern Pharisees’ boast is not that they are virtuous, but vicious, and they call Heaven to witness that they claim to be no better than the rest of mankind.”
Alexia was looking at him searchingly with a touch of disappointment.
“You are a cynic,” she said simply, yet with wistful conviction.
“Not I,” he replied frankly, and at his prompt denial her face brightened.
He hated himself for so easily falling into the trick of Gastineau’s pessimistic speech. “No: I am a believer in the honest, right-thinking minority, although my profession prevents me from shutting my eyes to the mental attitude of the rest. On the surface, at any rate, it is a cruel world, Countess, and I am more sorry than I can express, to know that you, of all women, have felt its hardness, its injustice. But please don’t think me a cynic.”
The smile she gave more than reassured him. “I won’t,” she murmured, “although I began to fear you were one.”
His voice was low as hers as he rejoined, “I never shall be now that I have known you.”
She laughed now. “If it were not too serious for a joke I should tell you to wait till our case is decided.”
“Countess,” he protested, “it has long been decided in my mind, unassailably decided.”
“Ah,” she said, “that was your duty. You could scarcely do less than believe in your client.”