That he was sending her to England did not fret her, because it was his will, and he knew what was best.

Busy with her contented and yet somewhat dazed thoughts of him,--she was too happy to be very active mentally, even if it had been the characteristic of her race,--she was not at first aware how much notice she excited, and how strange a figure she was in this staring city.

When it did dawn upon her she shrank a little, but still was placid, preferring to sit with her hands folded in her lap, idly watching things.

She appeared oblivious that she was the wife of a man of family and rank; she was only thinking that the man was hers--all hers.

He had treated her kindly enough in the days they were together, but she had not been a great deal with him, because they travelled fast, and his duties were many, or he made them so--but the latter possibility did not occur to her.
When he had hastily bidden her farewell at Port Arthur he had kissed her and said: "Good-bye, my wife." She was not yet acute enough in the inflections of Saxon speech to catch the satire--almost involuntary--in the last two words.