“Pessimism offers no ideal!  It offers the highest—­not to create life is the only good; the creation of life is the only evil; all else which man in his bestial stupidity calls good and evil is ephemeral and illusionary.”

“Schopenhauer’s arguments against suicide are not valid, that you admit, therefore it is impossible for the pessimist to justify his continued existence.”

“Pardon me, the diffusion of the principle of sufficient reason can alone end this world, and we are justified in living in order that by example and precept we may dissuade others from the creation of life.  The incomparable stupidity of life teaches us to love our parents—­divine philosophy teaches us to forgive them.”

That evening Mike played numerous games of backgammon with Mrs. Norton; talked till two in the morning to John of literature, and deplored the burning of the poems, and besought him to write them again, and to submit them, if need be, to a bishop.  He worked hard to obliterate the effect of his foolish confidences; for he was very happy in this large country house, full of unexpected impressions for him.  On the wide staircases he stopped, tense with sensations of space, order, and ample life.  He was impressed by the timely meals, conducted by well-trained servants; and he found it pleasant to pass from the house into the richly-planted garden, and to see the coachman washing the carriage, the groom scraping out the horse’s hooves, the horse tied to the high wall, the cowman stumping about the rick-yard—­indeed all the homely work always in progress.

Sometimes he did not come down to lunch, and continued his work till late in the afternoon.  At five he had tea in the drawing-room with Mrs. Norton, and afterwards went out to gather flowers in the garden with her, or he walked around the house with John, listening to his plans for the architectural reformation of his residence.

Mike had now been a month at Thornby Place.  He was enchanted with this country-side, and seeing it lent itself to his pleasure—­in other words, that it was necessary to his state of mind—­he strove, and with insidious inveiglements, to win it, to cajole it, to make it part and parcel of himself.  But its people were reserved.  Instinctively Mike attacked the line and the point of least resistance, and the point of least resistance lay about three miles distant.  A young squire—­a young man of large property and an unimpeachable position in the county—­lived there in a handsome house with his three sisters.  His life consisted in rabbit-shooting and riding out every morning to see his sheep upon the downs.  He was the rare man who does not desire himself other than he is.  But content, though an unmixed blessing to its possessor, is not an attractive quality, and Mr. Dallas stood sorely in need of a friend.  He loved his sisters, but to spend every evening in their society was monotonous, and he felt, and they felt still more keenly, that a nice young man would create an interest that at present was wanting in country life.  Mike had heard of this young squire and his sisters, and had long desired to meet him.  But they had paid their yearly visit to Thornby Place, and he could not persuade John to go to Holly Park.