"I think I was born to be an actor"--he said carelessly--"Now and then the love of declamation masters me. Then I speak--as Prime Ministers and men in Parliament speak--to suit the humour of the hour, and without meaning a single word I say!" "I cannot accept that statement"--I answered him, smiling a little--"You do mean what you say,--though I fancy you are rather a creature of impulse." "Do you really!" he exclaimed--"How wise of you!--good Geoffrey Tempest, how very wise of you! But you are wrong. There never was a being created who was less impulsive, or more charged with set purpose than I. Believe me or not as you like,--belief is a sentiment that cannot be forced. If I told you that I am a dangerous companion,--that I like evil things better than good,--that I am not a safe guide for any man, what would you think?" "I should think you were whimsically fond of under-estimating your own qualities"--I said, re-lighting my cigar, and feeling somewhat amused by his earnestness--"And I should like you just as well as I do now,--perhaps better,--though that would be difficult." At these words, he seated himself, bending his steadfast dark eyes full upon me. "Tempest, you follow the fashion of the prettiest women about town,--they always like the greatest scoundrels!" "But you are not a scoundrel;"--I rejoined, smoking peacefully. "No,--I'm not a scoundrel, but there's a good deal of the devil in me." "All the better!" I said, stretching myself out in my chair with lazy comfort--"I hope there's something of him in me too." "Do you believe in him?" asked Rimânez smiling. "The devil? of course not!"