"What a husband for that brilliant, affectionate girl! She likes all that is simple and grand. A real love--if it were a happy one--would make her even more charming, and if it caused her suffering, it would make her even more noble. But failing this, there will be a frightful void in her life." Reckage, whose imagination began to play round this thought, replied with unusual seriousness-- "I should be horribly grieved to see any declension from her better nature. I think I am getting to think less of mere social power. I feel more than I used to do that, if one could literally _live_ one's theories on moral strength, it would be a complete refutation of these ideas about the influence of money or a big accidental position. Old Harding was right when he said at luncheon to-day that disinterestedness counted very highly in the popular vote. The point about Henry Fox's elopement with Caroline Lennox was sound." "It would not have been sound," said Pensée, "if Caroline Lennox had been a third-rate woman. A man can be desperate so long as his choice, on the whole, justifies, either by her beauty, or her talents, or something uncommon, an extreme measure. Now, Robert may not have made a wise choice, but it is certainly a distinguished one. It can be understood and it commands respect." "Oh, yes, his is a thorough-going emotion, and one couldn't find a fault with its object. A strong man is always a man who feels strongly _and_ who can carry his feeling into action. Robert, with all his mysticism, is never subject to the deep depressions of spirit which usually afflict men of his gifts. He does not know what it is to be languid; or to have invincible indecisions. He will die game--even if he does know German metaphysic backwards!" She was astonished. "How well you understand him!" He leant forward a little and adopted a more confidential tone-- "Sara spoke of him at lunch. Her judgment of men and affairs--for so young a woman--is nothing short of amazing. I attribute it to the Asiatic streak on her mother's side. It is a kind of second-sight. What a wife for a Prime Minister! And Marshire, a fellow of middling ability and no experience, has had the sense to perceive her qualities!... My feelings can't be easily defined, nor, indeed, is it necessary they should.... I have gone so far that I cannot see anything for it but to go on." "You mean--in your own marriage?" He sighed profoundly, remained for several minutes silent, and finally roused himself with a painful effort. "There are some griefs which can defy any consolation save that of time. Time ultimately cures everything. It is a matter of history that I was once very much attached to Sara." "I know," murmured Pensée. "I know."