Custom has so far fettered fancy that even the wish to communicate has vanished.

He has now nothing to tell; she needs no ear to hear.

For she is not his love; she is only his wife,--what is left of a romance when the romance is left out.

Worse still, she never was anything else.

He has not so much as a memory of her, for he did not marry her for love; he may not love of his own accord, nor for the matter of that does he wish to do so.