‘Don’t pity me,’ she said in exultation; ‘think what it is to be his choice. Would I have him give up his aims, and settle down in the loveliest village in England? No, indeed, for then it would not be Owen! I am happier in the thought of him than I could be with everything present to enjoy.’
‘I hope you will continue to find it so,’ he said, repressing a sigh.
‘I should be ashamed of myself if I did not,’ she continued with glistening eyes. ‘Should not I have patience to wait while he is at his real glorious labour? And as to home, that’s not altered, only better and brighter for the definite hope and aim that will go through everything, and make me feel all I do a preparation.’
‘Yes, you know him well,’ said Humfrey; ‘you saw him constantly when he was at Westminster.’
‘O yes, and always! Why, Humfrey, it is my great glory and pleasure to feel that he formed me! When he went to Oxford, he brought me home all the thoughts that have been my better life. All my dearest books we read together, and what used to look dry and cold, gained light and life after he touched it.’
His tone reminded her of what had passed, and she said, timidly, ‘I forgot! I ought not! I have vexed you, Humfrey.’
‘No,’ he said, in his full tender voice; ‘I see that it was vain to think of competing with one of so much higher claims. If he goes on in the course he has chosen, yours will have been a noble choice, Honor; and I believe,’ he added, with a sweetness of smile that almost made her forgive the if, ‘that you are one to be better pleased so than with more ordinary happiness. I have no doubt it is all right.’
‘Dear Humfrey, you are so good!’ she said, struck with his kind resignation, and utter absence of acerbity in his disappointment.
‘Forget this, Honora,’ he said, as they were coming to the end of the pine wood; ‘let us be as we were before.’