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I was irritated.
Do you take me for a callous creature? I exclaimed. You are mistaken in me, Lucio. I feel most keenly
What do you feel? he inquired, fixing his eyes steadily upon me. There are hundreds of starving wretches in this metropolis, men and women on the brink of suicide because they have no hope of anything in this world or the next do you feel for them? Do their grieves affect you? You know they do not, you know you never think of them, why should you? One of the chief advantages of wealth is the ability to shut out other peoples miseries from our personal consideration.
I said nothing. He was right.
Yesterday, he went on in the same quiet voice, a child was run over here[19], just opposite this hotel. It was only a poor child. Its mother ran shrieking out of a back-street, just to see the little bleeding body. She struck wildly with both hands at the men who were trying to lead her away. And then with a cry she fell face forward in the mud dead. She was only a poor woman. I simply tell you the sad incident as it occurred, and I am sure you are not sorry for the fate of either the child or its mother who died in the agony. Now dont say you are, because I know youre not!
How can one feel sorry for people one does not know or has never seen I began.
Exactly! How is it possible? How can one feel, when ones self is thoroughly comfortable? Thus, my dear Geoffrey, you must be content to let your book appear as the reflex and record of your past when you were in the sensitive stage. Now you are encased in a pachydermatous covering of gold, which adequately protects you from such influences.
You should have been an orator, I said, rising and pacing the room to and fro in vexation. But to me your words are not consoling, and I do not think they are true. Fame is easily enough secured.
Pardon me, said Lucio with a deprecatory gesture. Notoriety is easily secured very easily. A few critics who have dined with you, will give you notoriety. But fame is the voice of the whole civilized public of the world.
The public! I echoed contemptuously. The public only care for trash.
It is a pity you should appeal to it then, he responded with a smile. If you think so little of the public why give it anything of your brain? The public is the authors best friend and truest critic. But if you prefer to despise, I tell you what to do. Print just twenty copies of your book and present these to the leading reviewers. When they write about you (as they will do Ill take care of that) let your publisher advertise First and Second Large Editions of the new novel by Geoffrey Tempest, are bought, one hundred thousand copies having been sold in a week!
I laughed.
It is a plan of action of many modern publishers, I said. But I dont like it. Ill win my fame legitimately if I can.
You cant! declared Lucio with a serene smile. Its impossible. You are too rich. That is not legitimate in literature.
I went over to my table, rolled up my corrected proofs and directed them to the printers.
The door opened and closed Lucio was gone. I remained alone. We had now been together for nearly a month, and I was no closer to the secret of his actual nature than I had been at first. Yet I admired him more than ever.
8
Rimanez and I went to the theater. We had entered the Earl of Eltons box between the first and second acts of the play, and the Earl himself, an unimpressive, bald-headed, red-faced old gentleman, with fuzzy white whiskers, had risen to welcome us. His daughter had not moved. A minute or two later when he addressed her sharply, saying Sibyl! Prince Rimanez and his friend, Mr. Geoffrey Tempest, she turned her head and honoured us both with the chill glance. Her exquisite beauty smote me dumb and foolish. Lucio spoke to her, and I listened.
At last, Lady Sibyl, he said, bending towards her deferentially. At last I have the honour of meeting you. I have seen you often, as one sees a star, at a distance.
She smiled, a smile so slight and cold that it scarcely lifted the corners of her lovely lips.
I do not think I have ever seen you, she replied. But my father speak of you constantly. So his friends are always mine.
He bowed.
To merely speak to Lady Sibyl Elton is sufficient to make the man happy, he said. To be her friend is to discover the lost paradise.
She flushed. Rimanez turned to me, and placed a chair just behind hers.
Will you sit here Geoffrey? he suggested. I want to have a business chat with Lord Elton.
She smiled encouragingly as I approached her.
You are a great friend of Prince Rimanez? she asked softly, as I sat down.
Yes, we are very intimate, I replied. He is a delightful companion.
The curtain rose and the play was resumed. A very questionable play, about the woman with the past. I felt disgusted at the performance and looked at my companions. There was no sign of disapproval on Lady Sibyls fair countenance. Her father was bending forward eagerly.
England has progressed! said Rimanez.
But, these women you know, exclaimed Lord Elton, these poor souls with a past are very interesting!
Very! murmured his daughter. In fact it seems that for women with no such past there can be no future! Virtue and modesty are quite out of date.
I leaned towards her, half whispering,
Lady Sibyl, I am glad to see this wretched play offends you.
She turned her deep eyes on me in mingled surprise and amusement.
Oh no, it doesnt, she declared. I have seen so many like it. And I have read so many novels on just the same theme! I assure you, I am quite convinced that the so-called bad woman is the only popular type with men. She gets all the enjoyment possible out of life, she frequently makes an excellent marriage. It is quite a mistake for women to be respectable, they are dull.
Ah, now you are only joking! I said with an indulgent smile. You know that in your heart you think very differently!
She made no answer, as just then the curtain went up again. At that very instant she turned to me and said,
You are the famous Mr. Tempest, are you not?
Famous? I echoed with a deep sense of gratification. Well, I am scarcely that, yet! My book is not published.
Her eyebrows arched themselves surprisedly.
Your book? I did not know you had written one. When I asked if you were the famous Mr. Tempest, I meant to say were you the great millionaire.
I bowed.
How delightful it must be for you to have so much money! she said. And you are young too, and good-looking.
I smiled.
You are very kind, Lady Sibyl!
Why? she asked laughing, such a delicious low laugh. Because I tell you the truth? You are young and you are good-looking! Millionaires are generally such appalling creatures. And now tell me about your book!
The performance was over. We all left the box together. Lucio and I raised our hats in farewell, and the Elton equipage rolled away. As we drove off, Lucio peered inquisitively at me and said,
Well?
I was silent.
Dont you admire her? he went on. I must confess she is cold, but snow often covers volcanoes! She has good features, and a naturally clear complexion.
She is perfectly beautiful, I said emphatically. The dullest eyes must see that. There is not a fault to be found with her. And she is wise and cold.