Fiction  |  Charles Dickens  |  Martin Chuzzlewit  |  Chapter 30

Martin Chuzzlewit — Chapter 30 (Part 9 of 11)

`By what arts or unhappy chances you have gained your influence over Mr. Chuzzlewit, I do not know,' said Mary: `it may be strong enough to soften even this, but he shall know of this, trust me, sir.'

Mr. Pecksniff raised his heavy eyelids languidly, and let them fall again. It was saying with perfect coolness, `Aye, aye! Indeed!'

`Is it not enough,' said Mary, `that you warp and change his nature, adapt his every prejudice to your bad ends, and harden a heart naturally kind by shutting out the truth and allowing none but false and distorted views to reach it; is it not enough that you have the power of doing this, and that you exercise it, but must you also be so coarse, so cruel, and so cowardly to me?'

Still Mr. Pecksniff led her calmly on, and looked as mild as any lamb that ever pastured in the fields.

`Will nothing move you, sir?' cried Mary.

`My dear,' observed Mr. Pecksniff, with a placid leer, `a habit of self-examination, and the practice of-- shall I say of virtue?'

`Of hypocrisy,' said Mary.

`No, no,' resumed Mr. Pecksniff, chafing the captive hand reproachfully, `of virtue--have enabled me to set such guards upon myself, that it is really difficult to ruffle me. It is a curious fact, but it is difficult, do you know, for any one to ruffle me. And did she think,' said Mr. Pecksniff, with a playful tightening of his grasp `that she could! How little did she know his heart!'

Little, indeed! Her mind was so strangely constituted that she would have preferred the caresses of a toad, an adder, or a serpent: nay, the hug of a bear: to the endearments of Mr. Pecksniff.

`Come, come,' said that good gentleman, `a word or two will set this matter right, and establish a pleasant understanding between us. I am not angry, my love.'

`You angry!'

`No,' said Mr. Pecksniff, `I am not. I say so. Neither are you.'

There was a beating heart beneath his hand that told another story though.

`I am sure you are not,' said Mr. Pecksniff: `and I will tell you why. There are two Martin Chuzzlewits, my dear; and your carrying your anger to one might have a serious effect--who knows!--upon the other. You wouldn't wish to hurt him, would you?'

She trembled violently, and looked at him with such a proud disdain that he turned his eyes away. No doubt lest he should be offended with her in spite of his better self.

`A passive quarrel, my love,' said Mr. Pecksniff, `may be changed into an active one, remember. It would be sad to blight even a disinherited young man in his already blighted prospects: but how easy to do it. Ah, how easy! Have I influence with our venerable friend, do you think? Well, perhaps I have. Perhaps I have.'

He raised his eyes to hers; and nodded with an air of banter that was charming.

`No,' he continued, thoughtfully. `Upon the whole, my sweet, if I were you I'd keep my secret to myself. I am not at all sure: very far from it: that it would surprise our friend in any way, for he and I have had some conversation together only this morning, and he is anxious, very anxious, to establish you in some more settled manner. But whether he was surprised or not surprised, the consequence of your imparting