He kept, therefore, out of Letty's way as much as he could, went more about the farm, and took long rides.
Nothing was further from Letty than any merest suspicion of the sort of regard Godfrey cherished for her.

There was in her nothing of the self-sentimental.

Her poet was gone from her, but she did not therefore take to poetry; nay, what poetry she had learned to like was no longer anything to her, now her singing bird had flown to the land of song.

To her, Tom was the greatest, the one poet of the age; he had been hers--was hers still, for did he not die telling her that he would go on watching till she came to him?
He had loved her, she knew; he had learned to love her better before he died.

She must be patient; the day would come when she should be a Psyche, as he had told her, and soar aloft in search of her mate.