Her being Mrs.Nevill Tyson was an accident; it had nothing to do with _her_.

Her beauty too?
It was gone.

So was something that had obscured his judgment of her.

He had doubted her over and over again, unwillingly at first, willfully at the end; but he knew now that if for one instant she had justified his skepticism he would have ceased to love her.

It was the paradox of her purity, dimly discerned under all his doubt, that had tormented and fascinated him; and she held him by it still.
His fingers worked nervously, plaiting and unplaiting the fringe.
"You were burnt.