He did not love her.  “Not as I love him,” she said to herself,—­“not as married people ought to love; but in the other way he loves me dearly.”  By the “other way” she meant that he loved her as he loved Elspeth, and loved them both just as he had loved them when all three played in the Den.

“He would love me if he could.”  She was certain of that.  She decided that love does not come to all people, as is the common notion; that there are some who cannot fall in love, and that he was one of them.  He was complete in himself, she decided.

“Is it a pity for him that he married me?  It would be a pity if he could love some other woman, but I am sure he could never do that.  If he could love anyone it would be me, we both want it so much.  He does not need a wife, but he needs someone to take care of him—­all men need that; and I can do it much better than any other person.  Had he not married me he never would have married; but he may fall ill, and then how useful I shall be to him!  He will grow old, and perhaps it won’t be quite so lonely to him when I am there.  It would have been a pity for him to marry me if I had been a foolish woman who asked for more love than he can give; but I shall never do that, so I think it is not a pity.

“Is it a pity for me?  Oh, no, no, no!

“Is he sorry he did it?  At times, is he just a weeny bit sorry?” She watched him, and decided rightly that he was not sorry the weeniest bit.  It was a sweet consolation to her.  “Is he really happy?  Yes, of course he is happy when he is writing; but is he quite contented at other times?  I do honestly think he is.  And if he is happy now, how much happier I shall be able to make him when I have put away all my selfish thoughts and think only of him.”

“The most exquisite thing in human life is to be married to one who loves you as you love him.”  There could be no doubt of that.  But she saw also that the next best thing was the kind of love this boy gave to her, and she would always be grateful for the second best.  In her prayers she thanked God for giving it to her, and promised Him to try to merit it; and all day and every day she kept her promise.  There could not have been a brighter or more energetic wife than Grizel.  The amount of work she found to do in that small house which his devotion had made so dear to her that she could not leave it!  Her gaiety!  Her masterful airs when he wanted something that was not good for him!  The artfulness with which she sought to help him in various matters without his knowing!  Her satisfaction when he caught her at it, as clever Tommy was constantly doing!  “What a success it has turned out!” David would say delightedly to himself; and Grizel was almost as jubilant because it was so far from being a failure.  It was only sometimes in the night that she lay very still, with little wells of water on her eyes, and through them saw one—­the dream of woman—­whom she feared could never