pect and tenderness, even if she had never been able to make
him entirely faithful, which, perhaps, only one woman could have done.
But, instead of that, Mary had been jealous and silly and violently
exacting. She wished him to be her slave and under her thumb, and yet
she wanted him to be her lover. Every word she had ever spoken,
everything she had ever done since their marriage had had the exact
contrary effect of what she desired. She had sent him further and
further away from her. That she knew he had married her for her money
embittered her and yet made her tyrannical. She wanted to take advantage
of that fact, in a way that no man could endure. Yet she was to be
pitied. Anyone so exacting must be terribly unhappy.

It was not in Nigel, either, to care long for anyone who cared for him
so much. And even if Bertha, who was now his ideal and his dream, had
been as devoted to him as Mary, and shown it in anything like the same
sort of way, he would in time have become cool and ceased to appreciate
her. He thought now that he would always adore her, and yet, when they
had been actually engaged, it had been he who had allowed it to lapse.
He might think that he cared for her far more now and understood her
better, and now no worldly object would induce him to give up the
possibility of their passing their lives together. And yet the fact
remained. She had loved him as a girl--worshipped him. But he had broken
it off. So now that he has lost all hope of his wish, he does not,
strictly speaking, deserve any sympathy; yet all emotional suffering
appeals to one's pity rather than to one's sense of justice. And Nigel
was miserable.

* * * * *

The letter Bertha had sent him the other day, though it put an end to
their meeting, had a sort of fragrance; a tender kindness about it. He
could make himself believe that she also was a little sorry. Perhaps she
did it more from motives of duty than from her own wish; something about
it left a little glamour, and he had still hope that somehow or other
circumstances might alter so much that even so they might be friends
again. But now! it was very different. Percy's quiet satisfaction showed
that they were on the most perfect terms, and he could imagine Bertha's
delight--her high spirits--and her charming little ways of showing her
pleasure. It forced itself on his mind against his will, that she was
very much in love with Percy after all these ten y