Accident and More Agonies

There was something very unaccountable in all this. I say unaccountable,
with the distinct understanding that it was unaccountable only to
that obtuse condition of mind which is produced by the demon of
the blind heart. My difficulties of judging were only temporary,
however. The sinister spirit made his whisper conclusive in the
end.

"This vehemence," it suggested, "which is so unwonted with her, is
evidently unnatural, It--is affected for an object. What is that
object? It is the ordinary one with persons in the wrong, who always
affect one extreme of feeling when they would conceal another. She
fears that you will suspect that she is very well satisfied in
your absence; accordingly she strives to convince you that she was
never so dissatisfied. Of course you can not believe that a man
so well endowed as Edgerton, so graceful, having such fine tastes
and accomplishments, can prove other than an agreeable companion!
What then should be your belief?"

There was a devilish ingenuity in this sort of perversion. It had its
effect. I believed it; and believing it, revolted, with a feeling
of hate and horror, at the supposed loathsome hypocrisy of that
fond embrace, and those earnest pleadings, which, in the moment
of their first display, had seemed so precious to my soul. In the
morning, when I was setting forth from home, she put her arm on my
shoulder:-"Come home soon. Edward, and let us go together on the hill. Let
nobody know. Surely we shall be company enough for each other. I
will sketch you a view of the river while you read Wordsworth to
me."