“Remember I've been a prisoner here. He's one of the familiar faces from outside.”
Although jestingly, she had spoken with her usual frankness, and her confession was more deeply significant than she was aware at the time. She had welcomed Colonel Pawley not for what he was, but for what he represented. As soon as she was alone she realised the moral lapse, and rebuked herself severely. She was sentimental enough to hang by a ribbon around her neck the simple engagement ring which Jimmie had given her, and to sleep with it as a talisman against evil thoughts.
She spent the following evening at the studio, heroically enduring the discomforts of the detested omnibus. When she descended she drew a breath of relief, but felt the glow that comes from virtuous achievement. Jimmie was informed of this practice in the art of economy. He regarded her wistfully. There were times when he too fought with doubts,—not of her loyalty, but of his own honesty in bringing her down into his humble sphere. Even now, accustomed as he was to the adored sight of her there, he could not but note the contrast between herself and her surroundings. She brought with her in every detail of her person, in every detail of her dress, in every detail of her manner, an atmosphere of a dainty, luxurious life pathetically incongruous with the shabby little house. He had not even the wherewithal to call in decorators and upholsterers and make the little house less shabby. So when she spoke of practising economy, he looked at her wistfully.
“Your eyes are open, dear, are n't they?” he said. “You really do realise what a sacrifice you are making in marrying me?”
“By not marrying you,” she replied, “I should have gained the world and lost my own soul. Now I am doing the reverse.”'
He kissed her finger-tips lover-wise. “I am afraid I must be the devil's advocate, and say that the loss and gain need not be so absolutely differentiated. I want you to be happy. My God! I want you to be happy,” he burst out with sudden passion, “and if you found that things were infinitely worse than what you had expected, that you had married me in awful ignorance—”
She covered his lips with the palm of her hand.
“Don't go on. You pain me. You make me despise myself. I have counted the cost, such as it is. Did I not tell you from the first that I would go with you in rags and barefoot through the world? Could woman say more? Don't you believe me?”
“Yes, I believe you,” he replied, bowing his head. “You are a great-hearted woman.”
She unfastened her hat, skewered it through with the pins, and gave it him to put down.