fortified position to graft on Mr. Purcey's ethics the principle of
'You be damned!' In the eyes of the majority he was probably an immoral
and irreligious man; but in fact his morals and religion were those of
his special section of society--the cultivated classes, "the professors,
the artistic pigs, advanced people, and all that sort of cuckoo," as Mr.
Purcey called them--a section of society supplemented by persons, placed
beyond the realms of want, who speculated in ideas.

Had he been required to make confession of his creed he would probably
have framed it in some such way as this: "I disbelieve in all Church
dogmas, and do not go to church; I have no definite ideas about a future
state, and do not want to have; but in a private way I try to identify
myself as much as possible with what I see about me, feeling that if I
could ever really be at one with the world I live in I should be happy.
I think it foolish not to trust my senses and my reason; as for what my
senses and my reason will not tell me, I assume that all is as it had to
be, for if one could get to know the why of everything in one would be
the Universe. I do not believe that chastity is a virtue in itself, but
only so far as it ministers to the health and happiness of the community.
I do not believe that marriage confers the rights of ownership, and I
loathe all public wrangling on such matters; but I am temperamentally
averse to the harming of my neighbours, if in reason it can be avoided.
As to manners, I think that to repeat a bit of scandal, and circulate
backbiting stories, are worse offences than the actions that gave rise to
them. If I mentally condemn a person, I feel guilty of moral lapse. I
hate self-assertion; I am ashamed of self-advertisement. I dislike
loudness of any kind. Probably I have too much tendency to negation of
all sorts. Small-talk bores me to extinction, but I will discuss a point
of ethics or psychology half the night. To make capital out of a
person's weakness is repugnant to me. I want to be a decent man, but--I
really can't take myself too seriously."

Though he had preserved his politeness towards Cecilia, he was in truth
angry, and grew angrier every minute. He was angry with her, himself,
and the man Hughs; and suffered from this anger as only they can who are
not accustomed to the rough-and-tumble of things.

Such a retiring man as Hilary was seldom given the opportunity for an
obvious display of chivalry