She knew what sin was, as set forth in the Ten Commandments, but she understood absolutely nothing of that strange leniency or laxity which now-a-days makes vice so interesting as to look like virtue, or mixes vice and virtue together in a knot of circumstances until it is difficult to distinguish right from wrong.
Christian Grey was a wife.

Therefore, both as wife and as woman, it never occurred to her as the remotest possibility that she could indulge in one tender thought of any man not her husband, or allow any man to lift up the least corner of that veil of matronly dignity with which every married woman, under whatever circumstances she has married or whatever may befall her afterward, ought to enwrap herself forever.
"When I am dead," says Shakspeare's Queen Katherine, _"Let me be used with honor.

Strew me over With maiden flowers, that all the world may know I was a chaste wife to my grave."_ But Christian thought of something beyond the world.

The 'honor' lay with herself alone; or, like her marriage vow, between herself, her husband, and her God.

She was conscious of no dramatic struggles of conscience, no picturesque persistence in duty: she arrived at her end without any ethical or metaphysical reasoning, and took her course just because it seemed to her impossible there could be any other course to take.
It was a very simple one--total passiveness and silence.