“It was stupid of me,” she said, “but I have been so unhappy. It's over now—but I was wretched. And there was nothing I could say.... I prayed.... It isn't the poverty I feared ever, but the disgrace. Now—I'm happy. I'm happy again.
“But how far do you come with me?”
“I'm with you.”
“But,” he said, “you are still a churchwoman?”
“I don't know,” she said. “I don't mind.”
He stared at her.
“But I thought always that was what hurt you most, my breach with the church.”
“Things are so different now,” she said.
Her heart dissolved within her into tender possessiveness. There came flooding into her mind the old phrases of an ancient story: “Whither thou goest I will go... thy people shall be my people and thy God my God.... The Lord do so to me and more also if aught but death part thee and me.”
Just those words would Lady Ella have said to her husband now, but she was capable of no such rhetoric.