There was no grace
in him when he was ill, nor at any time, beyond a certain cold
grace of manner, which he kept for ceremony, or where he wanted
to please.
Happily, Mr. Redmain had one intellectual passion, which, poor
thing as it was, and in its motive, most of its aspects, and
almost all its tendencies, evil exceedingly, yet did something to
delay that corruption of his being which, at the same time, it
powerfully aided to complete: it was for the understanding and
analysis of human evil--not in the abstract, but alive and
operative. For the appeasement of this passion, he must render
intelligible to himself, and that on his own exclusive theory of
human vileness, the aims and workings of every fresh specimen of
what he called human nature that seemed bad enough, or was
peculiar enough to interest him. In this region of darkness he
ranged like a discoverer--prowled rather, like an unclean beast
of prey--ever and always on the outlook for the false and foul;
acknowledging, it is true, that he was no better himself, but
arrogating on that ground a correctness of judgment beyond the
reach of such as, desiring to be better, were unwilling to
believe in the utter badness of anything human. Like a lover, he
would watch for the appearance of the vile motive, the self-
interest, that "must be," _he knew_, at the heart of this or
that deed or proceeding of apparent benevolence or generosity.
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