expression of thinly-veiled cynicism, he surveyed the scene and
tried to judge it from the standpoint of the "common people." His
verdict was that it was vain, frivolous, unworthy, beneath the
serious consideration of a man of affairs such as he. But he felt
that he was not quite frank, in fact was dishonest, with himself
in this lofty disdain. It represented what he ought to feel, not
what he actually was feeling. "At least," said he to himself,
"I'll never confess to any one that I'm weak enough to be
impressed by this sort of thing. Anyhow, to confess a weakness is
to encourage it... No wonder society is able to suck in and
destroy so many fellows of my sort! If _I_ am tempted what must it
mean to the ordinary man?" He noted with angry shame that he felt
a swelling of pride because he, of so lowly an origin, born no
better than the machine-like lackeys, had been able to push
himself in upon--yes, up among--these people on terms of equality.
And it was, for the moment, in vain that he reminded himself that
most of them were of full as lowly origin as he; that few indeed
could claim to be more than one generation removed from jack-boots
and jeans; that the most elegant had more relations among the
"vulgar herd" than they had among the "high folks."

"What are you looking so glum and sour about?" asked Arkwright.

He startled guiltily. So, his mean and vulgar thoughts had been
reflected in his face. "I was thinking of the case I have to try
before the Supreme Court next week," said he.

"Well, I'll introduce you to one of the Justices--old Towler. He
comes of the 'common people,' like you. But he dearly loves
fashionable society--makes himself ridiculous going to balls and