started as though he were stung. The look on Sprague's face maddened him. For Leicester was in a nervous condition that night. His abstention from spirits was telling on him terribly. Every fibre of his being was crying out for whisky, and every nerve seemed on edge.
"What do you mean, Sprague?" he demanded.
"I mean that our gallant warrior is pulling down his flag," said Sprague. "He has found out that the citadel cannot be easily taken, and he's ready to give up without striking a blow."
Leicester looked on the ground moodily. In his heart of hearts he was ashamed of the whole business, but he felt he would rather do anything than confess it before these fellows.
"I hear he's turned teetotaller, too," went on Sprague, who seemed anxious to pay off old scores. "Who knows? we may see Leicester posing as a temperance advocate yet."
Leicester rose to his feet as if unable to contain himself. To be sneered at by a man like Sprague was too much. He seemed about to give vent to an insulting remark, then as if thinking better of it checked himself. He rung a bell which stood on the table.
A waiter came in answer to his summons.
"Whisky," he said.
"A large or a small one, sir?"
"Bring – bring a bottle," he said savagely.
"I say, Leicester, don't do that!" said Purvis.
"Don't do what?"
"Don't start drinking again."
Again Leicester was almost overwhelmed with anger. How dare these fellows seek to interfere with him!
"May I ask my dear Moody and Sankey when the control of my actions came within your province?" he said, with a strong effort at self-control.
"Don't take it in that way, old man. I'm sure you are ashamed of the other business, and – "
"What business?"
"You know what business. You can't go on with it. You would never have thought of it if you hadn't been drinking too much; and really, I was awfully glad when I saw that you were giving it up."
Leicester did not reply, but instead looked eagerly towards the waiter, who was coming towards him.
He poured out a large portion of whisky into a glass, and then, having added a small quantity of soda-water, he took a long draught.
"There," he said, when he set down the glass empty, "that for your pious platitudes, my friends."
The action seemed to restore something of his equanimity, and it also brought back the old bravado which had characterised him.
"The brave warrior appears to require Dutch courage," remarked Sprague, who seemed bent on arousing all that was evil in him.
"Better that than none at all," remarked Leicester quietly. "And let me tell you this, my friend, you can tell your mother that I shall not assist you in your drawing-room meetings. By the way, what line are you on now? Is it Hottentot children, anti-smoking, or the conversion of the Jews?"
The colour had risen to his cheeks, the old light had come back to his eyes.
"As if I cared for your Dorcas meeting standards of morality," he went on. "What, you thought the poor sinner was repenting, eh? And you had all your texts, and your rag-tags of advice to pour into my willing ears. Tell me, Sprague, have you selected one of your women speakers to speak a word in season? You know how partial I am to public women."
"You tried to give up the drink for a whole week for one," retorted Sprague angrily.
"Did I, now? Well, then, I'll make up for my past misdeeds. I repent of my backsliding, my dear pastor, and I return to my spiritual comforter."
He poured out more whisky, still with a steady hand, and looked at them with a mocking smile.
"Have faith, Sprague," he said; "have faith, as your favourite women speakers say so eloquently at those dear drawing-room meetings which you love so much, 'there's nothing done without faith.'"
Purvis, who was the better fellow of the two, looked really distressed. He was ashamed of what had taken place, and had sincerely hoped that Leicester had given up the wild scheme upon which they had embarked.
"I am sorry for all this, Leicester," he said, "and I confess frankly I hoped – "
"That I had been brought to the stool of repentance, that I was ashamed of my misdeeds, and that I was going to give up the game. No, my friends, I stand by what I said, and what is more, I am going to carry it through. I am not converted to your professed belief in the nobility of women, and as for being ashamed – tah, as though I cared for your copybook morality!"
Neither of the men spoke in reply. They were almost afraid of the man. He spoke quietly, and yet the strange light in his eyes showed how much moved he was.
"And what is more, dear Moody and Sankey," he went on, "I'll play the game honestly. I'll hide none of my sentiments. I'll win this woman under no false colours. Why should I? There is no need. What did I say? Let women have their selfish ambition gratified, and nothing else matters."
"Come now, Leicester, you know it is not so. I should think your visit to Mr. Castlemaine's would at least have caused you to drop that rubbish."
He had by this time finished his second glass of whisky, and while as on the former occasion it showed no effects on his perfect articulation, and while he spoke very quietly, it doubtless made him say and do what without its influence he would never think of doing.
"I say, Purvis," he said, lying back comfortably in his chair, and lighting a cigar, "did I hide my sentiments at Mr. Castlemaine's? Did I pose as a moral reformer? And what is more, did you spare me? Did you not, with great and loyal friendship, give both Mr. and Miss Castlemaine your views concerning me? Did you not tell Miss Castlemaine of my reputation at Oxford, and of my terrible opinions? Did you not tell Mr. Castlemaine that I was an atheist, that I had laughed at Christian morality, and that I was a hard drinker? Come now, deny it if you can."
"You know what you said to me," said Purvis, looking on the floor like a man ashamed.
"Of course I did, my dear fellow. Don't look so miserable about it. Well, I did my worst, and you did your worst. Now look at that!"
He threw a letter to Purvis as he spoke.
"Am I to read it?"
"Else why did I give it you?"
Purvis opened the letter and read it. It was an invitation to Mr. Castlemaine's to dinner.
"Are you going?" asked Purvis.
"Of course I am. Do you think I am going to let such an opportunity slip? Oh, you need not be afraid to show it to Sprague. It is not an invitation to a drawing-room meeting, it is only to a dinner."
"Well, that means nothing," said Sprague.
"No? I think it proves my statements to the hilt. That invitation would not have come from John Castlemaine without his daughter's consent – perhaps it was at her instigation. And yet she knows that I am – well – all you've described me to be. I am an atheist, I've thrown copybook morals overboard, I am a
