Have I not said so?
I love England now." Cornelia smiled complacently.

"Let us hope your heart is capacious enough to love both." "Then your theory is" (Mr.Barrett addressed Cornelia in the winning old style), "that the love of one thing enlarges the heart for another ?" "Should it not ?" She admired his cruel self-possession pitiably, as she contrasted her own husky tones with it.
Emilia looked from one to the other, fancying that they must have her case somewhere in prospect, since none could be unconscious of the vehement struggle going on in her bosom; but they went farther and farther off from her comprehension, and seemed to speak of bloodless matters.

"And yet he is her lover," she thought.

"When they meet they talk across a river, and he knows she is going to another man, and does not gripe her wrist and drag her away!" The sense that she had no kinship with such flesh shut her mouth faster than Wilfrid's injunctions (which were ordinarily conveyed in too subtle a manner for her to feel their meaning enough to find them binding).

Cornelia, for a mask to her emotions, gave Emilia a gentle, albeit high-worded lecture on the artist's duty toward Art, quoting favourite passages from Mr.Barrett's favourite Art-critic.