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Cashel Byron's Profession

Page 70

Lucian tried to ignore the question; but he found it impossible to

ignore the questioner. "Since you have set the example of expressing

opinions without regard to considerations of common courtesy," he

said, shortly, "I may say that your theory, if it can be called one,

is manifestly absurd."

Cashel, apparently unruffled, but with more deliberation of manner

than before, looked about him as if in search of a fresh

illustration. His glance finally rested on the lecturer's seat, a

capacious crimson damask arm-chair that stood unoccupied at some

distance behind Lucian.

"I see you're no judge of a picture," said he, good-humoredly,

putting down the candle, and stepping in front of Lucian. who

regarded him haughtily, and did not budge. "But just look at it in

this way. Suppose you wanted to hit me the most punishing blow you

possibly could. What would you do? Why, according to your own

notion, you'd make a great effort. 'The more effort the more force,'

you'd say to yourself. 'I'll smash him even if I burst myself in

doing it.' And what would happen then? You'd only cut me and make me

angry, besides exhausting all your strength at one gasp. Whereas, if

you took it easy--like this--" Here he made a light step forward and

placed his open palm gently against the breast of Lncian, who

instantly reeled back as if the piston-rod of a steam-engine had

touched him, and dropped into the chair.

"There!" exclaimed Cashel, standing aside and pointing to him. "It's

like pocketing a billiard-ball!"

A chatter of surprise, amusement, and remonstrance spread through

the rooms; and the company crowded towards the table. Lucian rose,

white with rage, and for a moment entirely lost his self-control.

Fortunately, the effect was to paralyze him; he neither moved nor

spoke, and only betrayed his condition by his pallor and the hatred

in his expression. Presently he felt a touch on his arm and heard

his name pronounced by Lydia. Her voice calmed him. He tried to look

at her, but his vision was disturbed; he saw double; the lights

seemed to dunce before his eyes; and Lord Worthington's voice,

saying to Cashel, "Rather too practical, old fellow," seemed to come

from a remote corner of the room, and yet to be whispered into his

ear. He was moving irresolutely in search of Lydia when his senses

and his resentment were restored by a clap on the shoulder.

"You wouldn't have believed that now, would you?" said Cashel.

"Don't look startled; you've no bones broken. You had your little

joke with me in your own way; and I had mine in MY own way. That's

only--"

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