He did not think now that she wanted that; she was
happier with him than she had ever been before. She had found a new
indulgence for him, even for what she had hated in him. Justice would
have turned to harshness, clearness of vision to a Pharisaic strictness,
had she not found indulgence for the man who had crept back to kiss her
hand. She was very indulgent towards him, and he seemed happy, save that
now and then he looked at her wistfully, and began to fall into the way
of reminding her of past occasions when he had shone and she admired,
asking whether she remembered this and that. He dropped hints too that
the Henstead speech was to be memorable. She was a little afraid that
already he was feeling indulgence insufficient and mere kindness, or
indeed mere affection, not the great thing that he asked of her, just as
peace and quiet, or pictures, books, and hills, were not the things that
he asked of life. If this were so, the compromise she had brought him to
consent to was precarious; it was, as she had hinted to Aunt Maria,
doubtful whether they could stick to their year.
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