any hanging back on her part would be most unbecoming and ungrateful. It behoved her to keep in mind all these facts, to remember the sacrifices he had made for her, and to act accordingly. He had not chosen a wife from his own world, as it was presumable he would have preferred to do. He had consented to the family match proposed to him, and she must do her utmost to make up to him for the sacrifice he had made. [184] [185] [185] A few weeks back such a letter, though it might have hurt Monica’s pride, would not have cut her to the quick, as it did now. In the first place, she would then have simply disbelieved it, whereas recent circumstances had given her a very much greater respect for the opinions of those who knew the world so much better than she did, and who had forecasted so accurately events that had afterwards fulfilled themselves almost as a matter of course. She had begun to distrust her own convictions, to believe more in those of others, who had had experience of life, and could estimate its chances better than she could. She believed her aunt when she told her these things, and the poisoned shaft struck home to her heart. A few days ago she could have borne it better. [186]Her pride would have been hurt, but the sting would have been less keen. She did not know why the doubt of her husband’s love hurt her so cruelly; but hurt her it did, and for a moment she felt stricken to the earth. She had said to herself many times that she did not want such a wealth of love, when she had none on her side to bestow; but yet, when she had learned that it was not hers after all, but was only the counterfeit coin of a hollow world—the bribe by which her submission and gratitude were to be obtained—the knowledge was unspeakably bitter. She felt she would rather have died than have been forced to doubt. [186] As she dressed for her ride, pride came to the assistance of her crushed spirit. Wilberforce, the faithful servant who had [187]tended and loved Randolph from his infancy, and was ready to love his wife for his sake and her own, was aware of a subtle change in her young mistress that she did not understand, and which she could not well have described. Monica had been very quiet and gentle since her arrival, and very silent too. She was quiet enough to-day; but the gentleness had been replaced by a certain inexplicable hauteur. The pale face wore a glow of warm colour; the dark eyes that had been languid and heavy were wide open and full of fire. Monica looked superbly handsome in the
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