England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century
Buckland was sorry for the pain he had given. The retort did not affect
him, but he hung his head and looked uncomfortable. His next speech was
in a milder strain:
'I feel it a duty, Sidwell, to represent this man to you in what I
verily believe to be the true light. To be despised by one who is
immeasurably contemptible surely can't distress you. If a butler gets
into your house by means of a forged character, and then lays his plans
for a great burglary, no doubt he scorns you for being so easily taken
in,--and that is an exact parallel to Peak's proceedings. He has
somehow got the exterior of a gentleman; you could not believe that one
who behaved so agreeably and talked so well was concealing an
essentially base nature. But I must remind you that Peak belongs by
origin to the lower classes, which is as much as to say that he lacks
the sense of honour generally inherited by men of our world. A powerful
intellect by no means implies a corresponding development of the moral
sense.'
Sidwell could not close her ears against the argument. But her features
were still set in an expression of resentment, and she kept silence
lest her voice should sound tearful.
'And don't be tempted by personal feeling,' pursued her brother, 'to
make light of hypocrisy--especially this kind. The man who can act such
a part as Peak's has been for the last twelve months must be capable of
any depravity. It is difficult for you to estimate his baseness,
because you are only half convinced that any one can really be an enemy
of religious faith. You suspect a lurking belief even in the minds of
avowed atheists. But take the assurance from me that a man like Peak
(and I am at one with him in this matter) regards with absolute
repugnance every form of supernaturalism. For him to affect belief in
your religion, is a crime against conscience. Peak has committed this
crime with a mercenary motive,--what viler charge could be brought
against him?'
Without looking at him, his sister replied:
'Whether he is guilty or not, I can't yet determine. But the motive of
his life here was not mercenary.'
'Then how would you describe it?' Buckland asked, in astonishment.
'I only know that it can't be called mercenary.'
'Then the distinction you draw must be a very fine one.--He has
abandoned the employment by which he lived, and by his own admission he
looks to the Church for means of support. It was necessary for him to
make interest with people of social position; the closer his relations
with them the better. From month to month he has worked skilfully to
establish his footing in this house, and among your friends. What do
you call this?'
She had no verbal answer to make, but her look declared that she held
to another interpretation.
'Well,' Buckland added, impatiently, 'we will hear father's opinion.
He, remember, has been deceived in a very gross and cruel way. Possibly
he may help you to see the thing in all its hatefulness.'
Sidwell turned to him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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