Now she was
lovelier than ever, softened; by her suffering, the suffering he was
sharing. He sighed, turned away, looking out of the window doggedly,
turned back, and walked quickly up to her.
"How do you do?" he said, holding out his hand.
"How do you do, Stephen," she answered him, and laying her hand in his,
looked into his face a moment, dropped her eyes and stood before him
gravely, her color rising a little. A few trivial questions, a few
remarks, a few answers simply given, and he bowed and moved away as her
mother brought Edmonson up to her. He did not see her often now-a-days;
there was suffering to them both in meeting, and although he was still
her lover in name as well as in heart, it was always with a dread lest
the wall should be built up between them, and love be stifled in duty.
He was ashamed of himself for his jealous fears when he saw other men
paying her attentions; he never used to have these, but then he was
strong to woo her; he could defy his rivals in fair field, and, as it
had proved, could win the day. But now he was maimed in purpose, perhaps
his hope was lost, his conscience was not clear in the matter as before,
and he felt that in some way he had lost influence.
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