He saw the breath and desire of evil things struggling
with some wonderful dream vainly seeking to realize itself.
"Some of us," the lawyer said timidly, "build our ideals too high up
in the clouds, so that to reach them is very difficult. Nevertheless,
the effort counts."
Wingrave laughed mockingly.
"It is not like that with me," he declared. "My plans were made down
in hell."
"God bless my soul!" the lawyer murmured. "But you are not serious,
Sir Wingrave?"
"Ay! I'm serious enough," Wingrave answered. "Do you suppose a man,
with the best pages of his life rooted out, is likely to look out upon
his fellows from the point of view of a philanthropist? Do you suppose
that the man, into whose soul the irons of bitterness have gnawed and
eaten their way, is likely to come out with a smirk and look around
him for the opportunity of doing good? Rubbish! My aim is to encourage
suffering wherever I see it, to create it where I can, to make sinners
and thieves of honest people."
"God bless my soul!" the lawyer gasped again. "I don't think you can
be--as bad as you think you are. What about Juliet Lundy?"
Fire flashed in Wingrave's eyes. Again, at the mention of her name, he
seemed almost to lose control of himself. It was several moments
before he spoke. He looked Mr. Pengarth in the face, and his tone was
unusually deliberate.
"Gifts," he said, "are not always given in friendship.
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