In the hall someone rose from a sofa, and came towards him. It was Courtier.
"Run you to earth at last," he said; "I wish you'd come and dine with me. I'm leaving England to-morrow night, and there are things I want to say."There passed through Miltoun's mind the rapid thought: 'Does he know?' He assented, however, and they went out together.
"It's difficult to find a quiet place," said Courtier; "but this might do."The place chosen was a little hostel, frequented by racing men, and famed for the excellence of its steaks. And as they sat down opposite each other in the almost empty room, Miltoun thought: Yes, he does know! Can I stand any more of this? He waited almost savagely for the attack he felt was coming.
"So you are going to give up your seat?" said Courtier.
Miltoun looked at him for some seconds, before replying.
"From what town-crier did you hear that?"But there was that in Courtier's face which checked his anger; its friendliness was transparent.
"I am about her only friend," Courtier proceeded earnestly; "and this is my last chance--to say nothing of my feeling towards you, which, believe me, is very cordial.""Go on, then," Miltoun muttered.
"Forgive me for putting it bluntly. Have you considered what her position was before she met you?"Miltoun felt the blood rushing to his face, but he sat still, clenching his nails into the palms of his hands.
"Yes, yes," said Courtier, "but that attitude of mind--you used to have it yourself--which decrees either living death, or spiritual *****ery to women, makes my blood boil. You can't deny that those were the alternatives, and I say you had the right fundamentally to protest against them, not only in words but deeds. You did protest, I know; but this present decision of yours is a climb down, as much as to say that your protest was wrong."Miltoun rose from his seat. "I cannot discuss this," he said; "Icannot."
"For her sake, you must. If you give up your public work, you'll spoil her life a second time."Miltoun again sat down. At the word 'must' a steely feeling had come to his aid; his eyes began to resemble the old Cardinal's. "Your nature and mine, Courtier," he said, "are too far apart; we shall never understand each other.""Never mind that," answered Courtier. "Admitting those two alternatives to be horrible, which you never would have done unless the facts had been brought home to you personally "That," said Miltoun icily, "I deny your right to say.""Anyway, you do admit them--if you believe you had not the right to rescue her, on what principle do you base that belief?"Miltoun placed his elbow on the table, and leaning his chin on his hand, regarded the champion of lost causes without speaking. There was such a turmoil going on within him that with difficulty he could force his lips to obey him.
"By what right do you ask me that?" he said at last. He saw Courtier's face grow scarlet, and his fingers twisting furiously at those flame-like moustaches; but his answer was as steadily ironical as usual.
"Well, I can hardly sit still, my last evening in England, without lifting a finger, while you immolate a woman to whom I feel like a brother. I'll tell you what your principle is: Authority, unjust or just, desirable or undesirable, must be implicitly obeyed. To break a law, no matter on what provocation, or for whose sake, is to break the commandment""Don't hesitate--say, of God."
"Of an infallible fixed Power. Is that a true definition of your principle?""Yes," said Miltoun, between his teeth, "I think so.""Exceptions prove the rule."
"Hard cases make bad law."
Courtier smiled : "I knew you were coming out with that. I deny that they do with this law, which is altogether behind the times. You had the right to rescue this woman.""No, Courtier, if we must fight, let us fight on the naked facts."have not rescued anyone. I have merely stolen sooner than starve.
That is why I cannot go on pretending to be a pattern. If it were known, I could not retain my seat an hour; I can't take advantage of an accidental secrecy. Could you?"Courtier was silent; and with his eyes Miltoun pressed on him, as though he would despatch him with that glance.
"I could," said Courtier at last. "When this law, by enforcing spiritual *****ery on those who have come to hate their mates, destroys the sanctity of the married state--the very sanctity it professes to uphold, you must expect to have it broken by reasoning men and women without their feeling shame, or losing self-respect."In Miltoun there was rising that vast and subtle passion for dialectic combat, which was of his very fibre. He had almost lost the feeling that this was his own future being discussed. He saw before him in this sanguine man, whose voice and eyes had such a white-hot sound and look, the incarnation of all that he temperamentally opposed.
"That," he said, "is devil's advocacy. I admit no individual as judge in his own case.""Ah! Now we're coming to it. By the way, shall we get out of this heat?"They were no sooner in the cooler street, than the voice of Courtier began again:
"Distrust of human nature, fear--it's the whole basis of action for men of your stamp. You deny the right of the individual to judge, because you've no faith in the essential goodness of men; at heart you believe them bad. You give them no *******, you allow them no consent, because you believe that their decisions would move downwards, and not upwards. Well, it's the whole difference between the aristocratic and the democratic view of life. As you once told me, you hate and fear the crowd."Miltoun eyed that steady sanguine face askance:
"Yes," he said, "I do believe that men are raised in spite of themselves.""You're honest. By whom?"
Again Miltoun felt rising within him a sort of fury. Once for all he would slay this red-haired rebel; he answered with almost savage irony: