THE WINDOWfaction when she realised, at the turn of the pagewhen she stopped and heard dully, ominously, awave fall, how it came from this: she did not like,even for a second, to feel finer than her husband;and further, could not bear not being entirely sure,when she spoke to him, of the truth of whatshe said. Universities and people wanting him,lectures and books and their being of the highestimportance—all that she did not doubt for amoment; but it was their relation, and his comingto her like that, openly, so that anyone could see,that discomposed her; for then people said hedepended on her, when they must know that ofthe two he was infinitely the more important, andwhat she gave the world, in comparison with whathe gave, negligible. But then again, it was theother thing too—not being able to tell him thetruth, being afraid, for instance, about the green-house roof and the expense it would be, fiftypounds perhaps, to mend it; and then about hisbooks, to be afraid that he might guess, what shea little suspected, that his last book was not quitehis best book (she gathered that from WilliamBankes); and then to hide small daily things, andthe children seeing it, and the burden it laid onthem—all this diminished the entire joy, the purejoy, of the two notes sounding together, and let thesound die on her ear now with a dismal flatness.E65
Resize Images  

Select Pane

Berg Materials

View Pane