"You are contented, then?"
"Yes. Contentment is a poor substitute for happiness; but I am contented."
He longed to speak intimately, yet had no excuse for doing so.
"How much I wish it was in my power to brighten your content into happiness again," he said.
She smiled at him.
"Thank you for such a friendly wish. I am sure you mean it."
"Indeed I do."
"Perhaps I shall come to London some day, and then you would befriend me a little."
"How much I hope you will—soon."
"But I am dull and stupid still. I have great relapses and sometimes cannot even endure my uncle's voice. Then I shut myself up. I chain myself like a savage thing, for a time, till I am patient again."