Human nature, in its
countless aspects, was all about him, he said, every mask crying
to him to take it off. Unhappily, it was but the morbid anatomy
of human nature he cared to study. For all his abuse of it, he
did not yet recognize it as morbid, but took it as normal, and
the best to be had. No doubt, he therein judged and condemned
himself, but that he never thought of--nor, perceived, would it
have been a point of any consequence to him.
From the first, he saw through Mr. Mortimer, and all belonging to
him, except Miss Yolland: she soon began to puzzle--and, so far,
to please him, though, as I have said, he did not like her. Had
he been a younger man, she would have captivated him; as it was,
she would have repelled him entirely, but that she offered him a
good subject. He said to himself that she was a bad lot, but what
sort of a bad lot was not so clear as to make her devoid of
interest to him; he must discover how she played her life-game;
she had a history, and he would fain know it. As I have said,
however, so far it had come to nothing, for, upon the surface,
Sepia showed herself merely like any other worldly girl who knows
"on which side her bread is buttered."
The moment he had found, or believed he had found, what there was
to know about her, he was sure to hate her heartily. For some
time after his marriage, he appeared at his wife's parties
oftener than he otherwise would have done, just for the sake of
having an eye upon Sepia; but had seen nothing, nor the shadow of
anything--until one night, by the merest chance, happening to
enter his wife's drawing-room, he caught a peculiar glance
between Sepia and a young man--not very young--who had just
entered, and whom he had not seen before.
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