"Of course it's by no means certain I'll have enough courage to kill
myself. I rather doubt it! You see, they didn't breed me with courage.
They've given me porridge in my veins instead of blood! They press
electric buttons for their emotions and keep them down as long as is
respectable! They didn't give me grit at all--they gave me convention
and respectability. Everything I wanted to do they restrained because
so many of the things I wanted to do seemed natural but were not
respectable. And in the end they made a first-class liar of me." There
was a long, terrible silence.

"To-night, for a bit, I'm stripped bare here," he said in a low voice,
"letting you see me. To-morrow I'll be a nervous, stammering fool,
hiding all I feel, swanking like hell about my people, myself and
everyone I've ever seen, like I was doing to-day when you told me off so
beautifully. To-morrow I'll be drunk, and I'll lie to you till all's
blue. To-night I'm just honest."

"Why is it that you're honest with me?" she asked him.

"Lord knows! I suppose it's because I'll disintegrate and go over the
side in shivers if I can't get something off my chest. You don't seem
disgusted with me--Lord, everyone else is! And I'm the loneliest devil
on earth."

"I'm glad you told me. Let's be friends, Louis--till we get to Sydney,
anyway."

"I never have friends. I lie to them, and they find me out. I borrow
money from them and don't pay it back, and then I'm afraid to face them.