“Well, that’s not a bad criticism,” said Father Payne; “but it was pose if he meant to convey that he was a born schoolmaster.  Is he one, by the way?”

“No,” said Vincent, “he is not:  he is much ragged by the boys; but he comforts himself by thinking that all schoolmasters are ragged, but that he is rather more successful than most in dealing with it.  He has a great deal of moral dignity, has Pearce!  I don’t know where he would be without it!”

“Well, there’s an instance,” said Father Payne, “of a pose being of some use.  I think a real genuine pose often makes a man do better work in the world than if he was drearily conscious of failure.  It’s a game, you know—­a dramatic game:  and I think it’s a sign of vitality and interest to want to have a game.  It’s like the lawyer’s clerk in Our Mutual Friend, when Mr. Boffin calls to keep an appointment, being the lawyer’s only client; but the boy makes a show of looking it all up in a ledger, runs his finger down a list of imaginary consultants, and says to himself, ’Mr. Aggs, Mr. Baggs, Mr. Caggs, Mr. Daggs, Mr. Boffin—­Yes, sir, that is right!’ Now there’s no harm in that sort of thing—­it’s only a bit of moral dignity, as Vincent says.  It’s no good acquiescing in being a humble average person—­we must do better than that!  Most people believe in themselves in spite of abundant evidence to the contrary—­but it’s better than disbelieving in yourself.  That’s abject, you know.”

“But if you accept the principle of pose,” said Lestrange, “I don’t see that you can find fault with any pose.”

“You might as well say,” said Father Payne, “that if I accept the principle of drinking alcohol, it doesn’t matter how much I drink!  Almost all morality is relative—­in fact, it is doubtful if it is ever absolute.  The mischief of pose is not when it makes a man try to be or to appear at his best:  but when a man lives a thoroughly unreal life, taking a high line in theory and never troubling about practice, then it’s incredible to what lengths self-deception can go.  Dr. Johnson said that he looked upon himself as a polite man!  It is quite easy to get to believe yourself impeccable in certain points:  and as one gets older, and less assailable, and less liable to be pulled up and told the hard truth, it is astonishing how serenely you can sail along.  But that isn’t pose exactly.  It generally begins by a pose, and becomes simple imperviousness; and that is, after all, the danger of pose,—­that it makes people blind to the truth about themselves.”

“I’m getting muddled,” said Vincent.