Perhaps--nay, I have often thought since, _certainly_--she weeps as she prays, in secret; but God is the only One who knows of her tears, as of her prayers.

She has always been one to go halves in her pleasures, but of her sorrows she will give never a morsel to any one.
Her very quietness under her trouble--her silence under it--her equanimity--mislead me.

It is the impulse of any hurt thing to cry out.
I, myself, have always done it.

Half unconsciously, I am led by this reasoning to think that Barbara's wound cannot be very deep, else would she shrink and writhe beneath it.

So I talk to her all day, with merciless length, about Roger.