He was used to these outbursts of self-reproach, but they had never moved him greatly until now.
"They told me I ought to have married a clever woman.

_She_ wasn't clever, thank God! Yet somehow she had a sort of originality--I don't know what it was." (Tyson had lately fallen into the habit of talking about his wife in the past tense, as if she were dead.) "It was something that no clever woman ever has.

_I_ know them! Upon my soul I do believe I loved her." He paused, pondering.

"I wonder how it would have answered though if I'd married a thing with more brains ?" "Brains?
They're damnation.

Are you thinking of Miss Batchelor ?" "N-no.