But in a little while he faced another side of his problem. He was married to a girl whose pampered existence had given her a fairly good substitute for a strong will. It was patent that when she discovered his was the stronger she would resort to weapons—those enormous tears, for instance,—which he as a man could not emulate. He wished that he had something to fling viciously into the lake, but in that well-kept garden there were neither rocks nor fallen branches. The pebbles of the path were much too small. Then he laughed aloud as he realized that in one small tract of his brain he was as much of a child as his wife. Then he ground his teeth—
He stirred uneasily, turned his head. Mabel was standing there in the grove. Her hair looked like an offering from the sun to the soft gloom of ilex and cypress. Surrounded by those ancient trees, those battered old fauns and nymphs, she looked like the blessed damozel. If she was as white as her frock, her eyes were shining. She had never been more beautiful.
Ordham caught his breath. He had a confused sense that the world had turned over and in the act burst open a shell from which the ideal Mabel, that Mabel whom he had once seen in a sort of magic reflection, had really emerged. She stood quite still, gazing at him with soft appealing eyes, yet holding herself with dignity, and seeming taller than when under the lofty ceilings of the castle. Once more she looked the creature of pure romance, the fairy princess. His pulses shook. In an instant he was the adoring bridegroom, youth revelling in the joy of having found its mate.
Mabel permitted him to cover the distance, and when he had taken her in his arms and kissed her many times, with a certain imperious softness that never became violent, she asked him to sit down, and nestled against him in a fashion that made him feel very big and strong. Then she murmured apologies for “going to pieces.” “She had hidden herself to cry it out, first because she was unhappy and ashamed, and then because she could not control herself. Brigitte had sent for that dear old doctor, who had made her well at once.” By common consent the delicate subject was ignored, and they prattled like happy children themselves.