She had only been married a few weeks; and she loved her husband so dearly that to speak of him to any one, to an inn-servant, for example, seemed sacrilegious to her. She felt this very strongly at this moment, though she longed to ask Jessie where her husband might be found. She felt some slight displeasure at her husband’s absence, for he had never before left her for so long. This breakfast had been the first meal eaten apart since the day of their marriage. When Jessie had left the room, she looked at her image in the mirror, straightening the laces at her throat and smoothing the heavy hair, one of her chief beauties. She loved her husband. All other men were mere creatures to her--creatures with no splendour of circling memory, creatures of dust. But the announcement that Captain Margaret was even then without, waiting to be admitted, was somehow affecting. She felt touched, perhaps a little piqued. He had loved her, still loved her, she felt. She had never much cared for him, though she had found a sort of dreadful pleasure in the contemplation of her power over him. At the moment, she felt a little pity for him, and then a little pity for herself. Now that she was married, she thought, she would be unattractive to him; her power would be gone; and as that was the first time the thought had come to her, it made her almost sad, as though she were parting with a beautiful memory, with a part of her youth, with a part of her youthful beauty. Her look into the glass was anxious. She was eager to look her best, to make the most of her pale beauty; for (like less intelligent women) she believed that it was her beauty which most appealed to him. As a matter of fact it was the refinement of her voice which swayed him, her low voice, full of music, full of intensity, of which each note told of an inner grace, of some beauty of mind unattainable by men, but sometimes worshipped by them. She was not a clever talker. Her power lay in sympathy, in creating talk in others, for when she was of a company it was as though music were being played; the talk showed fine feeling; at least, the talkers went away delighted. She had a little beauty. Her eyes were beautiful; her hair was beautiful; but beautiful beyond all physical beauty was the beauty of her earnest voice, so unspeakably refined and pure, coming holy from the inner shrine.