But she knew him. His good qualities seemed to her to
overwhelm the others. His charm, his elegance, his affectionateness,
his nice speech, his courtesy, his quick wit, his worldliness--she
really considered it extraordinary that a plain, blunt girl, such
as she, should have had the luck to please him. It was indeed almost
miraculous.
If he had faults--and he had--she preferred them (proudly and
passionately) to the faults of scores of other women's husbands. He
was not a brute, nor even a boor nor a savage--thousands of savages
ranged free and terror-striking in the Five Towns. Even when vexed and
furious he could control himself. It was possible to share his daily
life and see him in all his social moods without being humiliated. He
was not a clodhopper; watch him from the bow-window of a morning as he
walked down the street! He did not drink; he was not a beast. He was
not mean. He might scatter money, but he was not mean. In fact, except
that one sinister streak in his nature, she could detect no fault.
There was danger in that streak.... Well, there was danger in every
man. She would accept it; she would watch it. Had she not long since
reconciled herself to the prospect of an everlasting vigil?
She did not care what any one said, and she did not care! He was the
man she wanted; the whole rest of the world was nothing in comparison
to him.
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