It soon overshadowed the happiness of Catharine's love, and awakened her from her short dream of bliss.
What she suffered, how much of secret agony and silent woe she endured, who can wish to know or conjecture?
Catharine had a proud and a chaste soul.

She concealed from the world her pain and her grief, as bashfully as she had once done her love.

Nobody suspected what she suffered and how she struggled with her crushed heart.
She never complained; she saw bloom after bloom fall from her life; she saw the smile disappear from her husband's countenance; she heard his voice, at first so tender, gradually harden to harsher tones; she felt his heart growing colder and colder, and his love changing into indifference, perhaps even into hate.
She had devoted her whole heart to love, but she felt day by day, and hour by hour, that her husband's heart was cooling more and more.

She felt, with dreadful heartrending certainty, she was his with all her love.
But he was no longer hers.
And she tormented her heart to find out why he no longer loved her--what she had been guilty of, that he turned away from her.

Seymour had not the delicacy and magnanimity to conceal from her his inward thoughts; and at last she comprehended why he neglected her.
He had hoped that Catharine would be Regent of England, that he then would be consort of the regent.