a fastidious egoism, in which all direct desires are dulled, and have

    dwindled¹ from motives² into a vacillating expectation of motives: a

    mind made up of moods, where a fitful impulse springs here and there

    conspicuously³ rank amid the general weediness? ‘Tis a condition apt to

    befall a life too much at large, unmoulded by the pressure of

    obligation. Nam deteriores omnes sumus licentiae, or, as a more

    familiar tongue might deliver it, “As you like” is a bad finger-post.

Potentates⁴ make known their intentions and affect the funds at a small expense of words. So when Grandcourt, after learning that Gwendolen had left Leubronn, incidentally pronounced that resort of fashion a beastly hole, worse than Baden, the remark was conclusive⁶ to Mr. Lush that his patron intended straightway to return to Diplow. The execution was sure to be slower than the intention, and, in fact, Grandcourt did loiter through the next day without giving any distinct orders about departure—perhaps because he discerned that Lush was expecting them: he lingered over his toilet, and certainly came down with a faded aspect of perfect distinction which made fresh complexions⁷ and hands with the blood in them, seem signs of raw vulgarity; he lingered on the terrace, in the gambling⁸-rooms, in the reading-room, occupying himself in being indifferent to everybody and everything around him. When he met Lady Mallinger, however, he took some trouble—raised his hat, paused, and proved that he listened to her recommendation of the waters by replying, “Yes; I heard somebody say how providential it was that there always happened to be springs at gambling places.”

 

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