or she arranged the cushions under his
head. The neighbours had asked to visit him, but this he resolutely
declined, and appealed to Mary for protection.

"I'm quite happy alone here with you, and if anyone else comes I swear
I'll fall ill again."

And with a little flush of pleasure and a smile, Mary answered that she
would tell them all he was very grateful for their sympathy, but didn't
feel strong enough to see them.

"I don't feel a bit grateful, really," he said.

"Then you ought to."

Her manner was much gentler now that James was ill, and her rigid moral
sense relaxed a little in favour of his weakness. Mary's common sense
became less aggressive, and if she was practical and unimaginative as
ever, she was less afraid than before of giving way to him. She became
almost tolerant, allowing him little petulances and little
evasions--petty weaknesses which in complete health she would have felt
it her duty not to compromise with. She treated him like a child, with
whom it was possible to be indulgent without a surrender of principle;
he could still claim to be spoiled and petted, and made much of.

And James found that he could look forward with something like
satisfaction to the condition of things which was evolving. He did not
doubt that if he proposed to Mary again, she would accept him, and all
their difficulties would be at an end. After all, why not? He was deeply
touched by the loving, ceaseless care she had taken of him; indeed, no
words from his father were needed to make him realise what she had gone
through. She was kindness itself, tender, considerate, cheerful; he felt
an utter prig to hesitate. And now that he had got used to her again,
James was really very fond of Mary. In his physical weakness, her
strength was peculiarly comforting. He could rely upon her entirely, and
trust her; he admired her rectitude and her truthfulness. She reminded
him of a granite cross standing alone in a desolate Scotch island,
steadfast to wind and weather, unyielding even to time, erect and stern,
and yet somehow pathetic in its solemn loneliness.

Was it a lot of nonsense that he had thought about the immaculacy of the
flesh? The world in general found his theories ridiculous or obscene.
The world might be right. After all, the majority is not necessarily
wrong. Jamie's illness interfered like a blank space between his
present self and the old one, with its strenuous ideals of a purity of
body which vulgar pers