There are such things, no doubt, as
cynics by temperament; congenital cynics. Then, indeed, you may cry:
The eye of the beholder. But others become cynics, are driven into
cynicism, by sad experience. I started in life with the rosiest faith
in my fellow-man. If I've lost it, it's because he's always behaved
shabbily to me, soon or late; always taking some advantage. The
struggle for existence! We're all beasts, who take part in it; we must
be, or we're devoured. Women for the most part are out of it. Anyhow,
_plus je vois les hommes, plus j'aime les femmes_.'
'Are you a beast too?'
'Oh, yes. But I don't bite. I'm the kind of beast that runs away. I
lie by the fire and purr, but at the first sign of trouble I jump for
the open door. That's why the other fellows always got the better of
me. They knew I was a coward, and profited by the knowledge. If my
dear good uncle hadn't died, I don't know how I should have lived.'
'I'm afraid you have "lived" too much.'
'That was uncalled for.'
'Or else your looks belie you.'
'My looks?'
'You're so dissipated-looking.'
'Dissipated-looking? I? Horror!'
'You've got such a sophisticated eye, if that suits you better. You
look _blase_.'
'You're a horrid, rude, uncomplimentary thing.'
'Oh, if you're going to call names, I must summon my natural
protector.
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