I suppose every one you know and many you don't are mentioning it."

"Well, what if they are?"

"They're creating an atmosphere about your name which is scarcely that
in which to make an entrance into public life."

Still with his back turned, he morosely informed me in his vernacular
that he contemplated public life with feelings of indifference, and was
perfectly prepared to abandon his ambitions. I took up my parable, the
same old parable that wise seniors have preached to the deluded young
from time immemorial. I have seldom held forth so platitudinously even
in the House of Commons. I spoke as impressively as a bishop. In the
midst of my harangue he came and sat by the library table and rested
his chin on his palm, looking at me quietly out of his dark eyes. His
mildness encouraged me to further efforts. I instanced cases of other
young men of the world who had gone the way of the flesh and had ended
at the devil.

There was Paget, of the Guards, eaten to the bone by the Syren--not even
the gold lace on his uniform left. There was Merridew, once the hope
of the party, now living in ignoble obscurity with an old and painted
mistress, whom he detested, but to whom habit and sapped will-power kept
him in thrall. There was Bullen, who blew his brains out. In a generous
glow I waxed prophetic and drew a vivid picture of Dale's moral, mental,
physical, financial, and social ruin, and finished up in a masterly
peroration.

Then, without moving, he calmly said: