She was glad to be delivered from the torment of the senses, to feel that the immortal human soul of her love was free.

And as she was very young and had the heart of a little child, she firmly believed that her husband's emotions had undergone the same purifying regenerating process.
As for Tyson, he had not a doubt on the subject.

One morning he was sitting in her room, watching her with a feverish, intermittent devotion.
He noticed her right arm as it hung along the counterpane, and the droop of the beautiful right hand--the one beautiful thing about her now.

He remembered how he used to tease her about that little white spot on her wrist, and how she used to laugh and shake down her ruffles or her bangles to hide it.

Even now she had the old trick; she had drawn the sleeve of her night-gown over it, as she felt his gaze resting on it.
Strange--though she was still sensitive about that tiny blemish, she was apparently indifferent to the change in her face.