As was quite natural, this gradual discovery of what he was—­or of what he wasn’t—­this truer estimate, this partial disillusionment, merely served to deepen and intensify the feeling he had aroused in her; to heighten, likewise, the sense of her own value by confirming a belief in her possession of certain qualities, of a kind of fibre he needed in a helpmate.  She dwelt with a woman’s fascination upon the prospect of exercising a creative influence—­even while she acknowledged the fearful possibility of his power in unguarded moments to overwhelm and destroy her.  Here was another incentive to resist the gusts of his passion.  She could guide and develop him by helping and improving herself.  Hope and ambition throbbed within her, she felt a contempt for his wife, for the women who had been her predecessors.  He had not spoken of these, save once or twice by implication, but with what may seem a surprising leniency she regarded them as consequences of a life lacking in content.  If only she could keep her head, she might supply that content, and bring him happiness!  The thought of his children troubled her most, but she was quick to perceive that he got nothing from them; and even though it were partly his own fault, she was inclined to lay the heavier blame on the woman who had been their mother.  The triviality, the emptiness of his existence outside of the walls of the mill made her heart beat with pure pity.  For she could understand it.

One of the many, and often humorous, incidents that served to bring about this realization of a former aimlessness happened on their second Sunday excursion.  This time he had not chosen the Kingsbury Tavern, but another automobilists’ haunt, an enlightening indication of established habits involving a wide choice of resorts.  While he was paying for luncheon and chatting with the proprietor, Ditmar snatched from the change he had flung down on the counter a five dollar gold coin.

“Now how in thunder did that get into my right-hand pocket?  I always keep it in my vest,” he exclaimed; and the matter continued to disturb him after they were in the automobile.  “It’s my lucky piece.  I guess I was so excited at the prospect of seeing you when I dressed this morning I put it into my change.  Just see what you do to me!”

“Does it bring you luck?” she inquired smilingly.

“How about you!  I call you the biggest piece of luck I ever had.”

“You’d better not be too sure,” she warned him.

“Oh, I’m not worrying.  I has that piece in my pocket the day I went down to see old Stephen Chippering, when he made me agent, and I’ve kept it ever since.  And I’ll tell you a funny thing—­it’s enough to make any man believe in luck.  Do you remember that day last summer I was tinkering with the car by the canal and you came along?”

“The day you pretended to be tinkering,” she corrected him.

He laughed.  “So you were on to me?” he said.  “You’re a foxy one!”