The Hypocrite

sented by his friends. "You belong to the Bourgeoisie," they said to him, "and we cannot call to mind that you have done anything to warrant an as

a caste." So saying he took another glass of log-juice, and looked

d, he was asked about a good deal; for as people said, "To have a Pter

e and the '74 log-juice that were of frequent occurrence at the tables of the great. The result of thi

he heard the cook (an elderly wood-louse of uncertain temper) say to the boy wood-louse who cleaned the knives and helped in the garden: "Master's that independent and 'e smell so of drink since 'e 's been a Pterygobranchiate

m habit is generally attended with disastrous results." This was the case with Gobion, who, in

r. Lovering could not quite understand what he was doing in London, and after a time bluntly asked him the reason for this change of plans. Thereupon Gobion

not find it out. The result was that the clergyman, who, as the father of a most attractive damsel, naturally desired to sell her to an eligible b

, trying in vain to feel it as a blow. It was of no use, howeve

actual moment had arrived when all higher aspirations had deserted him, that he was in

passed into

that it took to pour out a cup of coff

ath-but until then there was the hideous joy of absolute unrestraint. There would be no

of the Day" article by Clement Scott, the landlady knocked at the door, and said, "Ple

ng to The Liars to-night, and we want you t

urs

s. Ella Picton, the wife of Lionel Picton, the editor of the well-known paper The Spy

ke well or ill, and as for him he put up with the result for quietness. To his great amusement, his wife had almost persuaded herself that she wa

house. Accordingly after dinner he asked him a good many questions about The Pilgrim and its editor. His tongue be

terary fat boy, an urc

lgrim. You needn't give names. Just make it racy, and cut into the old elephant. You'll ex

sue, and as the arrangement was concluded, the butler came in to say that the ladies were ready to start. Bidding

p to the theatre, the footman springing down to open the door, and Gobion helped the ladies out. As they went into the foyer he noticed Wild and Blanche Huntley going into the stalls. It was very pleasant

mist a parterre of bright colours, the swirl of a fan, the gleaming of white arms, and the occasional sharp scintillation f

me in, and began to play a lazy, swinging waltz, which seemed to Gobion to harmonize strangely with the apricot light of the theatre. The whole scene struck an unreal and exotic note; he felt a strange deadeni

ushion of the box, white and

ed to paint your hands," he sa

ys so unsatisfactor

glass is a better ar

mpling in the stalls-fancy showing so soon after

een through sev

but she's put on a li

t as ugly as

h too nice a boy

sees things as t

little laugh. "Who is

e man-Wilfr

er of his purse t

gh-going of all

s here that

ow is Heath, the editor of The Pilgrim.

gined that he was

lly!

an apostle of the

ath is a clever man th

what

e changeful modern spir

oduced to him once,

e does go in

ondones a

donation i

and blushed a little.

some

l'uomo

y is advisable? One nev

en; modesty is more origin

only a plagiar

quickly. She was not accustome

ion of her presence, he looked again and found she did not interest him in the way she sought. Afte

llo!" said the former, "who's

on's

el Pi

es

making Gobion feel rather guilty as he remembered the article

ypewriter girl, and both Mrs. Wrampling and Will Fletcher are here, and they're sayin

and I'd be in rather a hole if it wasn't for these little episodes. Mrs. Grun

Birmingham, so I won't

nd hated him. People said his real name was Gluckstein, and he was reported to have been a ticket collector at Euston before he had come

"the disgustingly facetious and the faceti

s rather nettled;

e new critics of The Pilgrim

body is ever hurt." After which passage of arms he left t

carriage, and Mrs. Picton, as she pressed his

alone," she said

r, at which the latest sultry story of a ce

lot these men were, but still he was very little better

omeone had given her a copy of The Yell

um way now," she said, pointing to

ar," he said. "The fig-leaf was the grandm

religion?" said a fat man who

wants a new religion." "Theosophis

it if it wasn't for Miss Marie Corelli. Jew is quite out of the question; there are two difficulties, pork and another. M

drinks?"

t stick to Christianity after all."

ter with your l

night going ho

y Elliman's-ho

turpentine I was quite a

to lie here," said

fession. I'm a s

heard nothing about the mass of copy

been in to-night?" h

him for two or thr

on the dingy staircase, making a hissing noise in the silence, and shining on the white p

t in, pushing aside the swing doo

ked in, and looked round the screen by the fire, starti

with his back to Gobion. His thumbs were in the corners of his mouth, and with his first fingers he was

which flew out with a loud pop. Sturtevant wheeled round like a shot, shaking with

you startled

with you?" said Gobion; "you

int of discoloured ivory, with red wrinkles round the eye

t touch of D.T., and if you hadn't come in

ld, and in about an hour got him in

said, "how a

l about it; there are probabl

d with thanks." The next was a cheque from the Resounder for four guineas, in payment of the "Gambling at Oxford

et him to bed, and locked the door, putting the key in his pocket. He built up the fire, took

something like form, most of which he spent in the Temple, o

s finished it was with all the pride of an artist that he read

tack accentuated the next, for he would rush into the lowest forms of amuseme

pall, and he spent more and more time at the

men at Oxford, sat night after night cursing

ossal in thei

you'll write a realistic study for The Pilgrim. Perhaps my life was ordained for that end." Which, considering t

the room not much inclined for sleep. After an inspection of t

nd redeem us

dy of

utter stillne

quietly of the literary merit of the poem, while its passion throb

in the dull sky, the earliest messenger of d

morning. He stood quite still, looking towards a great bar of crimson which flashed up from over St. Paul's, showing the purple dome floating in the mist. The western sky over the archbishop's palace was all aglow with a red reflected light. Dark bars of cloud stretched out half over heaven, turning to brigh