"As if you weren't sure of me!" said Mary, with a touch of austerity.
"Oh, I don't mean what you do, I mean your feeling, don't you see?"
"No, I don't. How queer you are, Laurence!"
"No, it's you that's queer!... But I love you."
So the shadow passed, for the time being. But the reality which had cast this shadow remained, the real difference. Both of them were careful now not to bring it up, both repressed themselves somewhat. Mary continued to see Hilary in connection with the church, but she did not ask him to the house. Laurence did not speak of him, nor of Mary's studies, and she kept her books out of his sight. But he knew that she was going on, as he would have said, regardless of his feeling; and she knew that he was still unreasonable about it.
For some time, however, this remained an undercurrent in their life, which was full of activities, interests, anxieties, in which they generally accorded. It was on the whole a happy time for them, an unconscious happiness. They were young and vigorous, life opened out before them full of hope and promise, vaguely bright.