For once, driven by his emotion, he took that way.

He allowed Hermione to believe that he agreed with her in the
conception she had formed of her husband's love for her. It was
difficult for him to do this, for he had an almost cruel passion for
truth, and generally a clear insight into human character. Far less
than many others would have condemned did he, in his mind, condemn the
man who was dead for the sin against love that he had committed. He
had understood Maurice as Hermione had not understood him, and
knowledge is full of pardon. But though he could pardon easily he
could not easily pretend. By pretending he sinned against himself, and
helped his friend some steps along the way to peace. He thought he had
helped her to go much farther along that way than she had gone. And he
thought that Vere had helped her, too.

Now the hollow mutterings of the rock in Virgil's Grotto seemed to be
in his heart, as he realized how permanent was the storm in Hermione's
nature. Something for her he had done. And something--much more, no
doubt--Vere had done. But how little it all was!

Their helplessness gave him a new understanding of woman.

Hermione had allowed him great privileges, had allowed him to protect
her, had taken his advice. After Vere was born she had wished to go
back again to Sicily. The house of the priest, where she had been so
happy, and so sad, drew her. She longed for it. She desired to make it
her home. He had fought against her in this matter, and had been aided
by Gaspare.

There had been a subtle understanding, never expressed, between the