It would not do to admit it.

But he was forced to acknowledge that she had crept into his life and possessed it so completely that then and for months afterwards, except in deep sleep or in hours of severe mental strain, not a single half hour would pass without bringing its thought of Beatrice.

Everything that was beautiful, or grand, or elevating, reminded him of her--and what higher compliment could a mistress have?
If he listened to glorious music, the voice of Beatrice spoke to him through the notes; if he watched the clouds rolling in heavy pomp across a broken sky he thought of Beatrice; if some chance poem or novel moved him, why Beatrice was in his mind to share the pleasure.

All of which was very interesting, and in some ways delightful, but under our current system not otherwise than inconvenient to a married man.
And now Beatrice was gone, and he must come back to his daily toil, sweetened by Honoria's bitter complaints of their poverty, and see her no more.

The thought made Geoffrey's heart ache with a physical pain, but his reason told him that it was best so.