The sympathetic quality in his voice deepened.
"Have you gained no strength," he asked, "no indifference?"
"I cannot! I have tried, tried, tried so long, but just when I think I have steeled myself something touches the old spring, and it all comes back. On Thursday I saw a woman who was happy. It has tortured me ever since."
"Perhaps she thought you happy."
"No; she knew and she pitied me. We had been at school together. I was romantic then, and she laughed at me. The tears came into her eyes when she recalled it. She is not a wealthy woman. The man she married works very hard, but I envy her."
"Of what use?"
She leaned nearer, resting her chin upon her clasped hands. The diamonds on her fingers blazed in the lamplight. "You don't know what it means to me," she said. "I am not a clever woman. I was made to be a happy one. I believe myself a good one, and yet there are days when I feel myself to be no better than a lost woman—when I would do anything—for love."
"You fight such thoughts?"
"I try to, but they haunt me."
"And there is no happiness for you in your marriage? None that you can wring from disappointment?"