n't want to
act like me. The great majority are perfectly content to do
the ordinary thing."

And once I sought to be satirical.

"You evidently don't believe in the maxim: Act so that every
one of your actions is capable of being made into a universal rule."

"I never heard it before, but it's rotten nonsense."

"Well, it was Kant who said it."

"I don't care; it's rotten nonsense."

Nor with such a man could you expect the appeal to conscience
to be effective. You might as well ask for a reflection
without a mirror. I take it that conscience is the guardian
in the individual of the rules which the community has evolved
for its own preservation. It is the policeman in all our
hearts, set there to watch that we do not break its laws.
It is the spy seated in the central stronghold of the ego.
Man's desire for the approval of his fellows is so strong, his dread
of their censure so violent, that he himself has brought his
enemy within his gates; and it keeps watch over him, vigilant
always in the interests of its master to crush any half-formed
desire to break away from the herd. It will force him to
place the good of society before his own. It is the very
strong link that attaches the individual to the whole.
And man, subservient to interests he has persuaded himself are
greater than his own, makes himself a slave to his taskmaster.
He sits him in a seat of honour. At last, like a courtier
fawning on the royal stick that is laid about his shoulders,
he prides himself on the sensitiveness of his conscience.
Then he has no words hard enough for the man who does not
recognise its sway; for, a member of society now, he realises
accurately enough that against him he is powerless. When I
saw that Strickland was really indifferent to the blame his
conduct must excite, I could only draw back in horror as from
a monster of hardly human shape.

The last words he said to me when I bade him good-night were:

"Tell Amy it's no good coming after me. Anyhow, I shall
change my hotel, so she wouldn't be able to find me."

"My own impression is that she's well rid of you," I said.

"My dear fellow, I only hope you'll be able to make her see it.
But women are very unintelligent."

Chapter XV

When I reached London I found waiting for me an urgent request
that I should go to Mrs. Strickland's as soon after dinner as
I could. I found her with Colonel MacAndrew and his wife.
Mrs. Strickland's sister was ol