"Which of them all is me, Grizel ?" he asked gloomily.
"We shall see," she said, "when we have got the wings off." "They will have to come off a feather at a time." "That," she declared, "is what I have been trying to prove." "It will be a weary task, Grizel." "I won't weary at it," she said, smiling.
Her cheerfulness was a continual surprise to him.

"You bear up wonderfully well yourself," he sometimes said to her, almost reproachfully, and she never replied that, perhaps, that was one of her ways of trying to help him.
She is not so heartbroken, after all, you may be saying, and I had promised to break her heart.

But, honestly, I don't know how to do it more thoroughly, and you must remember that we have not seen her alone yet.
She tried to be very little alone.

She helped David in his work more than ever; not a person, for instance, managed to escape the bath because Grizel's heart was broken.

You could never say that she was alone when her needle was going, and the linen became sheets and the like, in what was probably record time.