But the time
passed in bitter reproaches on the part of the mother, and
expostulations on the part of the son, and there appeared no sign of the
amelioration the father had hoped for. The fact was that Mrs.
Macintosh's natural vulgarity had been so pampered by what she regarded
as wealth, and she had grown so puffed up, that her very person seemed
to hold the door wide for the devil. For self-importance is perhaps a
yet deeper root of all evil than even the love of money. Any deep,
honest affection might have made it too hot for the devil, but in her
heart there was little room for such a love. She seemed to believe in
nothing but mode and fashion, to care for nothing but what she called
"the thing." She grew in self-bulk, and gathered more and more weight in
her own esteem: she wore yet showier and more vulgar clothes, and
actually cultivated a slang that soon bade farewell to delicacy, so that
she sank and she sank, and she ate and she drank, until at last she
impressed her good-natured clergyman himself as one but a very little
above the beasts that perish--if, indeed, she was in any respect equal
to a good, conscientious dog! She retained, however, this much respect
for her son, for which that son gave her little thanks, that by-and-by
she limited herself to ex-pending all her contempt upon Annie, and
toward Hector settled into a dogged silence, where upon he, finding it
impossible to make any progress toward an understanding where he could
not even get a reply, at last gave up the attempt and became as silent
as she.
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