So Mary had come to prefer him to Jimmy, that was sure; but it was not a question between him and Jimmy, now.

It was between him, and any marriageable man that Mary might fancy.
He had grown old, and gray, and wrinkled, though he was under forty.
Mary had grown round, and young, and he had never seen her looking so beautiful.

Surely she would want a man now as young, and as fresh as herself; and she might want to live in town after a while, if she grew tired of the country.

Could he remember Jimmy's dreadful death, realize that he was responsible for it, and make love to his wife?
No, she was sacred to Jimmy.

Could he live beside her, and lose her to another man for the second time?
No, she belonged to him.