Part 13 (1/2)
”Unfortunately”--Philip turned to Claire--”a bachelor's storehouse contains no treat for a lady. Your visit was unexpected.”
”I shall gain my pleasure through watching you two sink back into a beloved vice,” she answered.
”Horrible!” Lawrence sat down, and took the cigarette which Philip produced. ”To enjoy seeing one succ.u.mb to vice.”
”Isn't it characteristic of scandal-loving humanity?” she rejoined.
”And on Christmas Day!” Philip chided her lightly. Then he went on, seriously: ”But one should really be above all things save love and grat.i.tude to G.o.d on this day.”
”I suppose so,” said Lawrence, ”but it's difficult to determine just where this object of grat.i.tude abides and what He is.”
”Is it necessary to locate Him?” asked Claire.
Lawrence breathed deeply with the satisfaction in his cigarette. ”I should hate to direct my grat.i.tude toward some one who missed it, and thus have it lost in desert s.p.a.ce,” he answered.
”It isn't that we need G.o.d so much as it is simply the good we gain ourselves,” said Philip slowly. ”I still follow the old trail for my own heart's sake.”
”And does it get you anywhere?” Lawrence's question was characteristic.
”Yes, I think so. I find myself nearer to the source of that which is worth while.”
”What is worth while?” Claire asked.
The answers she obtained were the two men revealed.
”The fullest life possible for me,” said Lawrence.
”The fullest heart possible for me,” followed Philip.
”But you both mean the same thing, don't you?” asked Claire.
”I mean the fullest number of my own desires gratified,” Lawrence avowed.
Philip leaned back in his chair and looked at Claire, meditatively.
”If he did as he says, we should have to lock him up,” he observed.
They all laughed.
”Not at all.” Lawrence was amiably argumentative. ”To be sure, if my desires were gratified at your expense, as this smoke, for example”--he laughed--”and on an all-inclusive scale, you might have to resort to personal violence. But, in fact, many of my desires would bring you joy in their gratification, you know.”
”I do know,” said Philip cordially, ”but the danger in your point of view is that it allows for no check. You would sacrifice both of us if it were necessary to gratify your desires--that is, if you lived true to your a.s.sertion.”
”Perhaps I would. I don't know. There is the weak point in my whole scheme. I evade it by failing to sacrifice you, but I support my theory by saying there is no occasion to do so.”
”I don't like your principles,” Philip rejoined, ”though I admit that my own fail me more often than not.”
”Exactly. We humans do fail, and the conclusion to which it brings me is, why hold principles that you find unworkable? I prefer a standard to which I can at least be true, in the main, and avoid self-condemnation, p.r.i.c.ks of conscience, and other little inconveniences.”
”Such as a sense of duty?” interrupted Claire.