s much to do with the high appreciation
that many of them had of him, as the amount of his income. He was, in
short, a bright example of a person without drawbacks, he was a rare
instance whose good points it was a pleasure to sum up; they summed him
up, therefore, joyfully; they proclaimed the total; they said everything
that was delightful about him. Going deeper, they were sure that he had
broken none of the commandments. There had been times when Winthrop had
almost felt like breaking them all, in order to get rid of this rampart
of approval, which surrounded him too closely, like a wall of down. But
there again--he could not be vicious simply to oblige these ladies, or
rather to disoblige them; he must be what it seemed good to him to be.
But he respectfully wished that they could realize how indifferent he
was to their estimation of him, good or bad.
He was a man by no means easily pleased. He could not, therefore, always
believe that other people were sincere when they were so unlike
himself--so much more readily pleased, for instance, with him, than he
was with them. For he was essentially modest at heart; though obstinate
in many of his ideas, he had not that assured opinion of himself, that
solidly installed self-approbation, which men in his position in America
(possessed of large fortunes which they have gained for the most part by
their own talent) are apt, though often unconsciously, to cherish. As he
was fastidious, it was no pleasure to him to taste the open advantages
of his position; they were too open, he did not care for things so
easily gained. And when these advantages were presented to him in
feminine eyes and smiles, or a feminine handwriting, he could not even
take a jocular view of it. For though he was a man of the world, he was
not (this was another of his secrets) in the least blase; he had his
ideal of what the best of life should be, and he kept it like a Madonna
in its shrine. When, therefore, this ideal was pulled by force from its
niche, or, worse still, stepped down of its own accord, he was immensely
disgusted, he felt a sense of personal injury, as if the most precious
feelings of life had been profaned. He had believed in this woman,
perhaps, to the extent of supposing her sweet and womanly; yet here she
was thinking--yes, without doubt thinking (either for herself or for
some one else) of the benefits which his position could confer. That the
little advances she had made had been m
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