Such a man they would have
summed up as "a rotter." If they ever thought of the soul at all, it was
probably under some such comprehensive name. Both had the same simple and
blatant aim in life, an aim which governed all their actions and was the
generator of most of their thoughts. This aim, expressed in their own
terse language, was "to do themselves jolly well." Both had, so far,
succeeded in their ambition. Both were, consequently, profoundly
convinced of their own cleverness. Intellectual conceit--the conceit of
the brain--is as nothing to physical conceit--the conceit of the body.
Acute intelligence is always capable of uneasiness, can always make room
for a doubt. But the self-satisfaction of the little-brained and
big-muscled man who has never had a rebuff or a day's illness is cased in
triple brass. Lady Holme knew this self-satisfaction well. She had seen
it staring out of her husband's big brown eyes. She saw it now in the
boyish eyes of Leo Ulford. She was at home with it and rather liked it.
In truth, it had at least one merit--from the woman's point of view--it
was decisively masculine.
Whether Leo Ulford was, or was not, a blackguard; as Mrs. Trent had
declared, did not matter to her. Three-quarters of the men she knew were
blackguards according to the pinched ideas of Little Peddlington; and
Mrs. Trent might originally have issued from there.
She got on easily with Leo Ulford because she was experienced in the
treatment of his type.
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