But he had been married, too long not to understand that her blame of him was only a form of self-reproach for her own self-forgetfulness.

She had not remembered that she was no longer young till she had come to what he saw was a nervous collapse.
The fact had its pathos and its poetry which no one could have felt more keenly than he.

If it also had its inconvenience and its danger he realized these too.
"Isabel," he said, "we are going home." "Very well, then it will be your doing." "Quite.

Do you think you could stand it as far as Cologne?
We get the sleeping-car there, and you can lie down the rest of the way to Ostend." "This afternoon?
Why I'm perfectly strong; it's merely my nerves that are gone." She sat up, and wiped her eyes.

"But Basil! If you're doing this for me--" "I'm doing it for myself," said March, as he went out of the room.
She stood the journey perfectly well, and in the passage to Dover she suffered so little from the rough weather that she was an example to many robust matrons who filled the ladies' cabin with the noise of their anguish during the night.