incapable of hurting a fly intentionally. So when that name
cropped up suddenly in this vexing bomb affair he realised all the
danger of it for the ticket-of-leave apostle, and his mind reverted
at once to the old lady’s well-established infatuation. Her
arbitrary kindness would not brook patiently any interference with
Michaelis’ freedom. It was a deep, calm, convinced infatuation.
She had not only felt him to be inoffensive, but she had said so,
which last by a confusion of her absolutist mind became a sort of
incontrovertible demonstration. It was as if the monstrosity of
the man, with his candid infant’s eyes and a fat angelic smile, had
fascinated her. She had come to believe almost his theory of the
future, since it was not repugnant to her prejudices. She disliked
the new element of plutocracy in the social compound, and
industrialism as a method of human development appeared to her
singularly repulsive in its mechanical and unfeeling character.
The humanitarian hopes of the mild Michaelis tended not towards
utter destruction, but merely towards the complete economic ruin of
the system. And she did not really see where was the moral harm of
it. It would do away with all the multitude of the “parvenus,”
whom she disliked and mistrusted, not because they had arrived
anywhere (she denied that), but because of their profound
unintelligence of the world, which was the primary cause of the
crudity of their perceptions and the aridity of their hearts. With
the annihilation of all capital they would vanish too; but
universal ruin (providing it was universal, as it was revealed to
Michaelis) would leave the social values untouched. The
disappearance of the last piece of money could not affect people of
position. She could not conceive how it could affect her position,
for instance. She had developed these discoveries to the Assistant
Commissioner with all the serene fearlessness of an old woman who
had escaped the blight of indifference. He had made for himself
the rule to receive everything of that sort in a silence which he
took care from policy and inclination not to make offensive. He
had an affection for the aged disciple of Michaelis, a complex
sentiment depending a little on her prestige, on her personality,
but most of all on the instinct of flattered gratitude. He felt
himself really liked in her house. She was kindness personified.
And she was practically wise too, after the manner of experienced
women. She made his married life much easier than it would have
been without her generously full recognition of his rights as
Annie’s husband. Her influence upon his wife, a woman devoured by
all sorts of small selfishnesses, small envies, small jealousies,
was excellent. Unfortunately, both her kindness and her wisdom
were of unreasonable complexion, distinctly feminine, and difficult
to deal with. She remained a perfect woman all along her full tale
of years, and not as some of them do become – a sort of slippery,
pestilential old man in petticoats. And it was as of a woman that
he thought of her – the specially choice incarnation of the
feminine, wherein is recruited the tender, ingenuous, and fierce
bodyguard for all sorts of men who talk under the influence of an
emotion, true or fraudulent; for preachers, seers, prophets, or
reformers.
Appreciating the distinguished and good friend of his wife, and
himself, in that way, the Assistant Commissioner became alarmed at
the convict Michaelis’ possible fate. Once arrested on suspicion
of being in some way, however remote, a party to this outrage, the
man could hardly escape being sent back to finish his sentence at
least. And that would kill him; he would never come out alive.
The Assistant Commissioner made a reflection extremely unbecoming
his official position without being really creditable to his
humanity.
“If the fellow is laid hold of again,” he thought, “she will never
forgive me.”
The frankness of such a secretly outspoken thought could not go
without some derisive self-criticism. No man engaged in a work he
does not like can preserve many saving illusions about himself.
The distaste, the absence of glamour, extend from the occupation to
the personality. It is only when our appointed activities seem by