Yet, even now, she could not tell.

Her judgment of what she saw was disturbed by many intertwining thoughts.
At least, he was happy.

Whatever she had done, if she had done anything, it had not hurt him.

There was no possibility of misinterpreting the sleeping man's expression.
She wished that he would wake, though she knew how the smile would fade, how the features would grow cold and indifferent, and how the grey eyes she loved would open with a look of annoyance at seeing her before him.
It was like a vision of happiness in a house of sorrow to see him lying there, so happy in his sleep, so loving, so peaceful.

She could make it all to last, too, if she would, and she realised that with a sudden pang.