Of all that read them, and here was a Nemesis awful in justice,
there was not one less moved by them than she who had inspired
them. She saw in them, it is true, a reflex of her own power--and
that pleased, but it did not move her. She took the devotion and
pocketed it, as a greedy boy might an orange or bull's-eye. The
verses in which Tom delighted were but the merest noise in the
ears of the lady to whom of all he would have had them
acceptable. One momentary revelation as to how she regarded them
would have been enough to release him from his foolish
enthrallment. Indignation, chagrin, and mortification would have
soon been the death of such poor love as Tom's.
Mary and Sepia were on terms of politeness--of readiness to help
on the one side, and condescension upon the other. Sepia would
have condescended to the Mother Mary. The pure human was an idea
beyond her, as beyond most people. They have not enough
_religion_ toward God to know there is such a thing as
religion toward their neighbor. But Sepia never made an enemy-if
she could help it. She could not afford the luxury of hating--
openly, at least. But I imagine she would have hated Mary
heartily could she have seen the way she regarded her--the look
of pitiful love, of compassionate and waiting helpfulness which
her soul would now and then cast upon her. Of all things she
would have resented pity; and she took Mary's readiness to help
for servility--and naturally, seeing in herself willingness came
from nothing else, though she called it prudence and necessity,
and knew no shame because of it.
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