The lie that can hurt, hurts in the strength of the second lie in which it is folded--a likeness to the truth.

It would have mattered little that she was driven from line after line of her defense, had she not, while she seemed to herself to be its champion, actually lost sight of that for which she thought she was striving.
It added much to Faber's influence on Juliet, that a tone of pathos and an element of poetry generally pervaded the forms of his denial.

The tone was the more penetrating that it veiled the pride behind it all, the pride namely of an unhealthy conscious individuality, the pride of _self_ as self, which makes a man the center of his own universe, and a mockery to all the demons of the real universe.

That man only who rises above the small yet mighty predilection, who sets the self of his own consciousness behind his back, and cherishes only the self of the Father's thought, the angel that beholds the eternal face, that man only is a free and noble being, he only breathes the air of the infinite.
Another may well deny the existence of any such Father, any such infinite, for he knows nothing of the nature of either, and his testimony for it would be as worthless as that is which he gives against it.
The nature of Juliet Meredith was true and trusting--but in respect of her mother she had been sown in weakness, and she was not yet raised in strength.

Because of his wife, Captain Meredith had more than once had to exchange regiments.