He took her in his arms.

She was ill and pitiful.
"Never mind, Little," he murmured.

"So long as you don't feel life's paltry and a miserable business, the rest doesn't matter, happiness or unhappiness." She pressed him to her.
"But I want you to be happy," she said pathetically.
"Eh, my dear--say rather you want me to live." Mrs.Morel felt as if her heart would break for him.

At this rate she knew he would not live.

He had that poignant carelessness about himself, his own suffering, his own life, which is a form of slow suicide.