desires.  Imagine him bullying his gardener over some transplanted geraniums, the thick mist of lies they stand in, so that the man does not immediately with the edge of a spade smite down his impertinence to the dust from which it rose....  And his case is the case of all comfortable lives.  What a lie and sham all civility is, all good breeding, all culture and refinement, while one poor ragged wretch drags hungry on the earth!”

“But this is Socialism!” said Lewisham. “I—­”

“No Ism,” said Chaffery, raising his rich voice.  “Only the ghastly truth of things—­the truth that the warp and the woof of the world of men is Lying.  Socialism is no remedy, no ism is a remedy; things are so.”

“I don’t agree—­” began Lewisham.

“Not with the hopelessness, because you are young, but with the description you do.”

“Well—­within limits.”

“You agree that most respectable positions in the world are tainted with the fraud of our social conditions.  If they were not tainted with fraud they would not be respectable.  Even your own position—­Who gave you the right to marry and prosecute interesting scientific studies while other young men rot in mines?”

“I admit—­”

“You can’t help admitting.  And here is my position.  Since all ways of life are tainted with fraud, since to live and speak the truth is beyond human strength and courage—­as one finds it—­is it not better for a man that he engage in some straightforward comparatively harmless cheating, than if he risk his mental integrity in some ambiguous position and fall at last into self-deception and self-righteousness?  That is the essential danger.  That is the thing I always guard against.  Heed that!  It is the master sin.  Self-righteousness.”

Mr. Lewisham pulled at his moustache.

“You begin to take me.  And after all, these worthy people do not suffer so greatly.  If I did not take their money some other impostor would.  Their huge conceit of intelligence would breed perhaps some viler swindle than my facetious rappings.  That’s the line our doubting bishops take, and why shouldn’t I?  For example, these people might give it to Public Charities, minister to the fattened secretary, the prodigal younger son.  After all, at worst, I am a sort of latter-day Robin Hood; I take from the rich according to their incomes.  I don’t give to the poor certainly, I don’t get enough.  But—­there are other good works.  Many a poor weakling have I comforted with Lies, great thumping, silly Lies, about the grave!  Compare me with one of those rascals who disseminate phossy jaw and lead poisons, compare me with a millionaire who runs a music hall with an eye to feminine talent, or an underwriter, or the common stockbroker.  Or any sort of lawyer....

“There are bishops,” said Chaffery, “who believe in Darwin and doubt Moses.  Now, I hold myself better than they—­analogous perhaps, but better—­for I do at least invent something of the tricks I play—­I do do that.”