"No! Not you, Mr. Aynesworth. Mr. Wingrave understands so much better how to wrap me up. Thanks! Won't you sit down yourself? It's much better for you out here than in the smoking room--and we might go on with our argument.""I thought," Wingrave remarked, accepting her invitation after a moment's hesitation, "that we were to abandon it.""That was before dinner," she answered, glancing sideways at him. "I feel braver now.""You are prepared," he remarked, "for unconditional surrender?"She looked at him again. She had rather nice eyes, quite dark and very soft, and she was a great believer in their efficacy.
"Of my argument?"
He did not answer her for a moment. He had turned his head slightly towards her, and though his face was, as usual, expressionless, and his eyes cold and hard, she found nevertheless something of meaning in his steady regard. There was a flush in her cheek when she looked away.
"I am afraid," she remarked, "that you are rather a terrible person.""You flatter me," he murmured. "I am really quite harmless!""Not from conviction then, I am sure," she remarked.
"Perhaps not," he admitted. "Let us call it from lack of enterprise! The virtues are all very admirable things, but it is the men and women with vices who have ruled the world. The good die young because there is no useful work for them to do. No really satisfactory person, from a moral point of view, ever achieved greatness!"She half closed her eyes.
"My head is going round," she murmured. "What an upheaval! Fancy Mephistopheles on a steamer!""He was, at any rate, the most interesting of that little trio," Wingrave remarked, "but even he was a trifle heavy.""Do you go about the world preaching your new doctrines?" she asked.
"Not I!" he answered. "Nothing would every make a missionary of me, for good or for evil, for the simple reason that no one else's welfare except my own has the slightest concern for me.""What hideous selfishness!" she said softly. "But I don't think--you quite mean it?""I can assure you I do," he answered drily. "My world consists of myself for the central figure, and the half a dozen or so of people who are useful or amusing to me! Except that the rest are needed to keep moving the machinery of the world, they might all perish, so far as I was concerned.""I don't think," Mrs. Travers said softly, "that I should like to be in your world.""I can very easily believe you," he answered.
"Unless," she remarked tentatively, "I came to convert!"He nodded.
"There is something in that," he admitted. "It would be a great work, a little difficult, you know.""All the more interesting!"
"You see," he continued, "I am not only bad, but I admire badness. My wish is to remain bad--in fact, I should like to be worse if I knew how. You would find it hard to make a start. I couldn't even admit that a state of goodness was desirable!"She looked at him curiously. The night air was perhaps getting colder, for she shivered, and drew the rug a little closer around her.
"You speak like a prophet," she remarked.
"A prophet of evil then!"
She looked at him steadfastly. The lightness had gone out of her tone.
"Do you know," she said, "I am almost sorry that I ever knew you?"He shook his head.
"You can't mean it," he declared.
"Why not?"
"I have done you the greatest service one human being can render another! Ihave saved you from being bored!"
She nodded.
"That may be true," she admitted. "But can you conceive no worse state in the world than being bored?""There is no worse state," he answered drily. "I was bored once," he added, "for ten years or so; I ought to know!""Were you married?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"Not quite so bad as that," he answered. "I was in prison!"She turned a startled face towards him.
"Nonsense!"
"It is perfectly true," he said coolly. "Are you horrified?""What did you do?" she asked in a low tone.
"I killed a man."
"Purposely?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"He attacked me! I had to defend myself."
She said nothing for several moments.
"Shall I go?" he asked.
"No! Sit still," she answered. "I am frightened of you, but I don't want you to go away. I want to think . . . . Yes! I can understand you better now! Your life was spoilt!""By no means," he answered. "I am still young! I am going to make up for those ten years."She shook her head.
"You cannot," she answered. "The years can carry no more than their ordinary burden of sensations. If you try to fill them too full, you lose everything.""I shall try what I can do!" he remarked calmly.
She rose abruptly.
"I am afraid of you tonight," she said. "I am going downstairs. Will you give my rug and cushion to the deck steward? And--good night."She gave him her hand, but she did not look at him, and she hurried away a little abruptly.
Wingrave yawned, and lighting a cigar, strolled up and down the deck. A figure loomed out of the darkness and almost ran into him. It was the young man in the serge suit. He muttered a clumsy apology and hurried on.
