{"id":622,"date":"2026-06-13T23:32:14","date_gmt":"2026-06-14T04:32:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/aflorebooks.com\/?post_type=digital-library&p=622"},"modified":"2026-06-14T10:26:08","modified_gmt":"2026-06-14T15:26:08","slug":"chapter-1-there-are-heroisms-all-round-us","status":"publish","type":"digital-library","link":"https:\/\/aflorebooks.com\/es\/digital-library\/the-lost-world\/chapter-1-there-are-heroisms-all-round-us\/","title":{"rendered":"Chapter 1: There Are Heroisms All Round Us"},"content":{"rendered":"
9\u201314 minutes<\/div>\n\n
2.147 words<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Mr. Hungerton, her father, really was the most tactless person upon earth\u2014a fluffy, feathery, untidy cockatoo of a man, perfectly good-natured, but absolutely centred upon his own silly self. If anything could have driven me from Gladys, it would have been the thought of such a father-in-law. I am convinced that he really believed in his heart that I came round to the Chestnuts three days a week for the pleasure of his company, and very especially to hear his views upon bimetallism, a subject upon which he was by way of being an authority.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For an hour or more that evening I listened to his monotonous chirrup about bad money driving out good, the token value of silver, the depreciation of the rupee, and the true standards of exchange.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSuppose,\u201d he cried with feeble violence, \u201cthat all the debts in the world were called up simultaneously, and immediate payment insisted upon\u2014what under our present conditions would happen then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I gave the self-evident answer that I should be a ruined man, upon which he jumped from his chair, reproved me for my habitual levity, which made it impossible for him to discuss any reasonable subject in my presence, and bounced off out of the room to dress for a Masonic meeting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At last I was alone with Gladys, and the moment of Fate had come! All that evening I had felt like the soldier who awaits the signal which will send him on a forlorn hope; hope of victory and fear of repulse alternating in his mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sat with that proud, delicate profile of hers outlined against the red curtain. How beautiful she was! And yet how aloof! We had been friends, quite good friends; but never could I get beyond the same comradeship which I might have established with one of my fellow reporters upon the Gazette<\/em>\u2014perfectly frank, perfectly kindly, and perfectly unsexual. My instincts are all against a woman being too frank and at her ease with me. It is no compliment to a man. Where the real sex feeling begins, timidity and distrust are its companions, heritage from old wicked days when love and violence went often hand in hand. The bent head, the averted eye, the faltering voice, the wincing figure\u2014these, and not the unshrinking gaze and frank reply, are the true signals of passion. Even in my short life I had learned as much as that\u2014or had inherited it in that race memory which we call instinct.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gladys was full of every womanly quality. Some judged her to be cold and hard; but such a thought was treason. That delicately bronzed skin, almost oriental in its colouring, that raven hair, the large liquid eyes, the full but exquisite lips\u2014all the stigmata of passion were there. But I was sadly conscious that up to now I had never found the secret of drawing it forth. However, come what might, I should have done with suspense and bring matters to a head tonight. She could but refuse me, and better be a repulsed lover than an accepted brother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So far my thoughts had carried me, and I was about to break the long and uneasy silence, when two critical, dark eyes looked round at me, and the proud head was shaken in smiling reproof.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have a presentiment that you are going to propose, Ned. I do wish you wouldn\u2019t; for things are so much nicer as they are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I drew my chair a little nearer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow, how did you know that I was going to propose?\u201d I asked in genuine wonder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t women always know? Do you suppose any woman in the world was ever taken unawares? But\u2014oh, Ned, our friendship has been so good and so pleasant! What a pity to spoil it! Don\u2019t you feel how splendid it is that a young man and a young woman should be able to talk face to face as we have talked?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, Gladys. You see, I can talk face to face with\u2014with the station-master.\u201d I can\u2019t imagine how that official came into the matter, but in he trotted, and set us both laughing. \u201cThat does not satisfy me in the least. I want my arms round you, and your head on my breast, and\u2014oh, Gladys, I want\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had sprung from her chair, as she saw signs that I proposed to demonstrate some of my wants.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve spoiled everything, Ned,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s all so beautiful and natural until this kind of thing comes in! It is such a pity! Why can\u2019t you control yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t invent it,\u201d I pleaded. \u201cIt\u2019s nature. It\u2019s love.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, perhaps if both love, it may be different. I have never felt it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you must\u2014you, with your beauty, with your soul! Oh, Gladys, you were made for love! You must love!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne must wait till it comes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut why can\u2019t you love me, Gladys? Is it my appearance, or what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She did unbend a little. She put forward a hand\u2014such a gracious, stooping attitude it was\u2014and she pressed back my head. Then she looked into my upturned face with a very wistful smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo it isn\u2019t that,\u201d she said at last. \u201cYou\u2019re not a conceited boy by nature, and so I can safely tell you it is not that. It\u2019s deeper.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy character?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded severely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat can I do to mend it? Do sit down and talk it over. No, really, I won\u2019t, if you\u2019ll only sit down!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She looked at me with a wondering distrust which was much more to my mind than her whole-hearted confidence. How primitive and bestial it looks when you put it down in black and white!\u2014and perhaps after all it is only a feeling peculiar to myself. Anyhow, she sat down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow tell me what\u2019s amiss with me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m in love with somebody else,\u201d said she.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was my turn to jump out of my chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s nobody in particular,\u201d she explained, laughing at the expression of my face, \u201conly an ideal. I\u2019ve never met the kind of man I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell me about him. What does he look like?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, he might look very much like you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow dear of you to say that! Well, what is it that he does that I don\u2019t do? Just say the word\u2014teetotal, vegetarian, aeronaut, Theosophist, Superman. I\u2019ll have a try at it, Gladys, if you will only give me an idea what would please you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She laughed at the elasticity of my character.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, in the first place, I don\u2019t think my ideal would speak like that,\u201d said she. \u201cHe would be a harder, sterner man, not so ready to adapt himself to a silly girl\u2019s whim. But, above all, he must be a man who could do, who could act, who could look Death in the face and have no fear of him, a man of great deeds and strange experiences. It is never a man that I should love, but always the glories he had won; for they would be reflected upon me. Think of Richard Burton! When I read his wife\u2019s life of him I could so understand her love! And Lady Stanley! Did you ever read the wonderful last chapter of that book about her husband? These are the sort of men that a woman could worship with all her soul, and yet be the greater, not the less, on account of her love, honoured by all the world as the inspirer of noble deeds.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She looked so beautiful in her enthusiasm that I nearly brought down the whole level of the interview. I gripped myself hard, and went on with the argument.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe can\u2019t all be Stanleys and Burtons,\u201d said I; \u201cbesides, we don\u2019t get the chance\u2014at least, I never had the chance. If I did, I should try to take it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut chances are all around you. It is the mark of the kind of man I mean that he makes his own chances. You can\u2019t hold him back. I\u2019ve never met him, and yet I seem to know him so well. There are heroisms all round us waiting to be done. It\u2019s for men to do them, and for women to reserve their love as a reward for such men. Look at that young Frenchman who went up last week in a balloon. It was blowing a gale of wind, but because he was announced to go he insisted on starting. The wind blew him one thousand five hundred miles in twenty-four hours, and he fell in the middle of Russia. That was the kind of man I mean. Think of the woman he loved, and how other women must have envied her! That\u2019s what I should like to be\u2014envied for my man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019d have done it to please you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you shouldn\u2019t do it merely to please me. You should do it because you can\u2019t help yourself, because it\u2019s natural to you, because the man in you is crying out for heroic expression. Now, when you described the Wigan coal explosion last month, could you not have gone down and helped those people, in spite of the chokedamp?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou never said so.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere was nothing worth bucking about.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t know.\u201d She looked at me with rather more interest. \u201cThat was brave of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI had to. If you want to write good copy, you must be where the things are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat a prosaic motive! It seems to take all the romance out of it. But, still, whatever your motive, I am glad that you went down that mine.\u201d She gave me her hand, but with such sweetness and dignity that I could only stoop and kiss it. \u201cI dare say I am merely a foolish woman with a young girl\u2019s fancies. And yet it is so real with me, so entirely part of my very self, that I cannot help acting upon it. If I marry, I do want to marry a famous man!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy should you not?\u201d I cried. \u201cIt is women like you who brace men up. Give me a chance, and see if I will take it! Besides, as you say, men ought to make<\/em> their own chances, and not wait until they are given. Look at Clive\u2014just a clerk, and he conquered India! By George! I\u2019ll do something in the world yet!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She laughed at my sudden Irish effervescence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d she said. \u201cYou have everything a man could have\u2014youth, health, strength, education, energy. I was sorry you spoke. And now I am glad\u2014so glad\u2014if it wakens these thoughts in you!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd if I do\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her dear hand rested like warm velvet upon my lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot another word, Sir! You should have been at the office for evening duty half an hour ago; only I hadn\u2019t the heart to remind you. Someday, perhaps, when you have won your place in the world, we shall talk it over again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so it was that I found myself that foggy November evening pursuing the Camberwell tram with my heart glowing within me, and with the eager determination that not another day should elapse before I should find some deed which was worthy of my lady. But who\u2014who in all this wide world could ever have imagined the incredible shape which that deed was to take, or the strange steps by which I was led to the doing of it?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And, after all, this opening chapter will seem to the reader to have nothing to do with my narrative; and yet there would have been no narrative without it, for it is only when a man goes out into the world with the thought that there are heroisms all round him, and with the desire all alive in his heart to follow any which may come within sight of him, that he breaks away as I did from the life he knows, and ventures forth into the wonderful mystic twilight land where lie the great adventures and the great rewards. Behold me, then, at the office of the Daily Gazette<\/em>, on the staff of which I was a most insignificant unit, with the settled determination that very night, if possible, to find the quest which should be worthy of my Gladys! Was it hardness, was it selfishness, that she should ask me to risk my life for her own glorification? Such thoughts may come to middle age, but never to ardent three-and-twenty in the fever of his first love.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Mr. Hungerton, her father, really was the most tactless person upon earth\u2014a fluffy, feathery, untidy cockatoo of a man, perfectly […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":0,"parent":617,"menu_order":0,"template":"","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"disabled","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"library-language":[42],"book-author":[44],"class_list":["post-622","digital-library","type-digital-library","status-publish","hentry","library-language-english-edition","book-author-sir-arthur-conan-doyle"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/aflorebooks.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/digital-library\/622","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/aflorebooks.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/digital-library"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/aflorebooks.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/digital-library"}],"version-history":[{"count":24,"href":"https:\/\/aflorebooks.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/digital-library\/622\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":697,"href":"https:\/\/aflorebooks.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/digital-library\/622\/revisions\/697"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aflorebooks.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/digital-library\/617"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/aflorebooks.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=622"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"library-language","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aflorebooks.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/library-language?post=622"},{"taxonomy":"book-author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aflorebooks.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book-author?post=622"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}