'Why the deuce should you? You may rise in time to something better than tact; to what the good book, I suppose, means by "wisdom." Young geniuses like you, who have been green enough to sell your souls to "truth," must not meddle with tact, unless you wish to fare as the donkey did when he tried to play lap-dog.' 'At all events, I would sooner remain cub till they run me down and eat me, than give up speaking my mind,' said Lancelot. 'Fool I may be, but the devil himself shan't make me knave.' 'Quite proper. On two thousand a year a man can afford to be honest. Kick out lustily right and left!--After all, the world is like a spaniel; the more you beat it, the better it likes you--if you have money. Only don't kick too hard; for, after all, it has a hundred million pair of shins to your one.' 'Don't fear that I shall run a-muck against society just now. I am too thoroughly out of my own good books. I have been for years laughing at Young England, and yet its little finger is thicker than my whole body, for it is trying to do something; and I, alas, am doing utterly nothing. I should be really glad to take a lesson of these men and their plans for social improvement.' 'You will have a fine opportunity this evening. Don't you dine at Minchampstead?' 'Yes. Do you?' 'Mr. Jingle dines everywhere, except at home. Will you take me over in your trap?' 'Done. But whom shall we meet there?' 'The Lavingtons, and Vieuxbois, and Vaurien, and a parson or two, I suppose. But between Saint Venus and Vieuxbois you may soon learn enough to make you a sadder man, if not a wiser one.' 'Why not a wiser one? Sadder than now I cannot be; or less wise, God knows.' The colonel looked at Lancelot with one of those kindly thoughtful smiles, which came over him whenever his better child's heart could bubble up through the thick crust of worldliness. 'My young friend, you have been a little too much on the stilts heretofore. Take care that, now you are off them, you don't lie down and sleep, instead of walking honestly on your legs. Have faith in yourself; pick these men's brains, and all men's. You can do it. Say to yourself boldly, as the false prophet in India said to the missionary, "I have fire enough in my stomach to burn up" a dozen stucco and filigree reformers and "assimilate their ashes into the bargain, like one of Liebig's cabbages."' 'How can I have faith in myself, when I am playing traitor to myself every hour in the day? And yet faith in something I must have: in woman, perhaps.' 'Never!' said the colonel, energetically. 'In anything but woman? She must be led, not leader. If you love a woman, make her have faith in you. If you lean on her, you will ruin yourself, and her as well.' Lancelot shook his head. There was a pause. 'After all, colonel, I think there must be a meaning in those old words our mothers used to teach us about "having faith in God."'