Mr Pecksniff walked on with his arm round her waist, and her hand in his, as contentedly as if they had been all in all to each other, and were joined in the bonds of truest love.
‘If you force me by your superior strength,’ said Mary, who finding that good words had not the least effect upon him, made no further effort to suppress her indignation; ‘if you force me by your superior strength to accompany you back, and to be the subject of your insolence upon the way, you cannot constrain the expression of my thoughts. I hold you in the deepest abhorrence. I know your real nature and despise it.’
‘No, no,’ said Mr Pecksniff, sweetly. ‘No, no, no!’
‘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.