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He was far
from being alive to his disadvantages; every hour assured him of his
superiority. Most especially he counted on the aid and favour of women;
the future might prove him right or wrong in his expectation; but he
relied for its realisation not on the power which he did possess but on
an accomplishment of manner and an insinuating fascination which he most
absolutely lacked. The ultra-civility which repelled May Gaston was less
a device than an exhibition; he embarked on it more because he thought
he did it well than (as she supposed) from a desire to curry favour. He
was ill-bred, but he was not mean; he was a vaunter but not a coward; he
demanded adherence and did not beg alms. This was the attitude of his
mind, but unhappily it was often apparently contradicted by the cringing
of his body and the wheedling of his tongue. In attempting smoothness he
fell into oiliness; where he aimed at polished brilliance, the result
was blazing varnish. Had he known what to pray for, he would have
supplicated heaven that he might meet eyes able to see the man beneath
the ape.


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