"always calm," but whose passions are strong. How do you know that his
passions are strong? Because he "gives them away" by some small, but
important, part of his demeanour, such as the twitching of a lip or
the whitening of the knuckles caused by clenching the hand. In other
words, his demeanour, fundamentally, is not calm. You know the man
who is always "smoothly polite and agreeable," but who affects you
unpleasantly. Why does he affect you unpleasantly? Because he is
tedious, and therefore disagreeable, and because his politeness is
not real politeness. You know the man who is awkward, shy, clumsy, but
who, nevertheless, impresses you with a sense of dignity and force.
Why? Because mingled with that awkwardness and so forth _is_ dignity.
You know the blunt, rough fellow whom you instinctively guess to be
affectionate--because there is "something in his tone" or "something
in his eyes." In every instance the demeanour, while perhaps seeming
to be contrary to the character, is really in accord with it. The
demeanour never contradicts the character. It is one part of the
character that contradicts another part of the character. For, after
all, the blunt man _is_ blunt, and the awkward man _is_ awkward, and
these characteristics are defects. The demeanour merely expresses
them. The two men would be better if, while conserving their good
qualities, they had the superficial attributes of smoothness and
agreeableness possessed by the gentleman who is unpleasant to you. And
as regards this latter, it is not his superficial attributes which are
unpleasant to you; but his other qualities. In the end the character
is shown in the demeanour; and the demeanour is a consequence of the
character and resembles the character. So with style and matter.
You may argue that the blunt, rough man's demeanour is unfair to his
tenderness. I do not think so. For his churlishness is really
very trying and painful, even to the man's wife, though a moment's
tenderness will make her and you forget it. The man really is