woven herself into his life that her sudden departure
had been like the upwrenching of a plant, tearing
out the fibres twisted about his heart, cutting off all
his sustenance and strength. The inconsistencies of
her conduct especially troubled him. If she loved
him--and she had told him that she did, and with
their cheeks touching--how could she leave him in
order to indulge a mere whim of her sister's? And
if she loved him well enough to tell him so, why
had she refused to plight him her troth? Such a
course was unnatural, and out of his own and everyone
else's experience. Women who loved men with
a great, strong, healthy love, the love he could give
her, and the love he knew she could give him, never
permitted such trifles to come between them and
their life's happiness. What, he asked himself a
thousand times, had brought this change?

As the months went by these doubts and speculations
one by one passed out of his mind, and only
the image of the woman he adored, with all her
qualities--loyalty to her trust, tenderness over Lucy
and unquestioned love for himself--rose clear. No,
he would believe in her to the end! She was still
all he had in life. If she would not be his wife she
should be his friend. That happiness was worth all
else to him in the world. His was not to criticise,
but to help. Help as SHE wanted it; preserving her
standard of personal honor, her devotion to her ideals,
her loyalty, her blind obedience to her trust.