‘Then of what are you sure?’

‘Of nothing.’

‘Now we touch bottom!’ cried Malkin.  ’Philosophically speaking, I agree with you.  But we have to live our lives, and I suppose we must direct ourselves by some conscious principle.’

‘I don’t see the necessity,’ Peak replied, still in an impassive tone.  ’We may very well be guided by circumstances as they arise.  To be sure, there’s a principle in that, but I take it you mean something different.’

’Yes I do.  I hold that the will must direct circumstances, not receive its impulse from them.  How, then, are we to be guided?  What do you set before yourself?’

’To get through life with as much satisfaction and as little pain as possible.’

’You are a hedonist, then.  Well and good!  Then that is your conscious principle’—­

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘How am I to understand you?’

’By recognising that a man’s intellectual and moral principles as likely as not tend to anything but his happiness.’

‘I can’t admit it!’ exclaimed Malkin, leaping from his chair.  ’What~ is~ happiness?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Earwaker, what is happiness?  What is happiness?’

‘I really don’t know,’ answered the journalist, mirthfully.

’This is trifling with a grave question.  We all know perfectly well that happiness is the conscious exertion of individual powers.  Why is there so much suffering under our present social system?  Because the majority of men are crushed to a dead level of mechanical toil, with no opportunity of developing their special faculties.  Give a man scope, and happiness is put within his reach.’

‘What do you mean by scope?’ inquired Godwin.

’Scope?  Scope?  Why, room to expand.  The vice of our society is hypocrisy; it comes of over-crowding.  When a man isn’t allowed to be himself, he takes refuge in a mean imitation of those other men who appear to be better off.  That was what sent me off to South America.  I got into politics, and found that I was in danger of growing dishonest, of compromising, and toadying.  In the wilderness, I found myself again.—­Do you seriously believe that happiness can be obtained by ignoring one’s convictions?’

He addressed the question to both, snuffing the air with head thrown back.

‘What if you have no convictions?’ asked Peak.

’Then you are incapable of happiness in any worthy sense!  You may graze, but you will never feast.’

The listeners joined in laughter, and Malkin, after a moment’s hesitation, allowed his face to relax in good-humoured sympathy.

‘Now look here!’ he cried.  ’You—­Earwaker; suppose you sent conscience to the devil, and set yourself to please Runcorn by increasing the circulation of your paper by whatever means.  You would flourish, undoubtedly.  In a short time you would be chief editor, and your pockets would burst with money.  But what about your peace of mind?  What about happiness?’