With the instinctive miserliness of the man who realizes that passion to last must be hoarded, not scattered, he had drawn back almost unconsciously from the simple abandonment of her love.

He wanted her because the deep discomfort of his nature could not be satisfied without her; but in possessing her he did not mean to give up anything else.

Never for an instant had he deluded himself with the mystic ecstasies of Gabriella.
The passion which had changed her whole being as if by a miracle, had altered neither his fundamental egoism nor his superficial philosophy.
He loved her, he knew, as much as it was possible for him to love any woman; but he was still able to take a profound and healthy interest in his physical comfort.

In one thing, however, they were passionately agreed, and that was that the aim and end of their marriage was to make George perfectly happy.
"You are sweet enough to eat this morning," he said as he kissed her.
"I told Mrs.Peyton that you didn't know whether I was pretty or ugly," she answered merrily.
"It isn't beauty that takes a man, though women think so," he rejoined lightly, and yet as if he were imparting one of the basic facts of experience.

"I don't know what it is--but it's something else, and you've got it, Gabriella." She looked at him with luminous eyes.
"I've got you," she answered in a whisper; "that's all--nothing else on earth matters.