“But, Elfride, did you love him deeply?” said Knight restlessly.
“I don’t exactly know how deep you mean by deeply.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“You misapprehend; and you have let go my hand!” she cried, her eyes filling with tears. “Harry, don’t be severe with me, and don’t question me. I did not love him as I do you. And could it be deeply if I did not think him cleverer than myself? For I did not. You grieve me so much—you can’t think.”
“I will not say another word about it.”
“And you will not think about it, either, will you? I know you think of weaknesses in me after I am out of your sight; and not knowing what they are, I cannot combat them. I almost wish you were of a grosser nature, Harry; in truth I do! Or rather, I wish I could have the advantages such a nature in you would afford me, and yet have you as you are.”
“What advantages would they be?”
“Less anxiety, and more security. Ordinary men are not so delicate in their tastes as you; and where the lover or husband is not fastidious, and refined, and of a deep nature, things seem to go on better, I fancy—as far as I have been able to observe the world.”
“Yes; I suppose it is right. Shallowness has this advantage, that you can’t be drowned there.”
“But I think I’ll have you as you are; yes, I will!” she said winsomely. “The practical husbands and wives who take things philosophically are very humdrum, are they not? Yes, it would kill me quite. You please me best as you are.”