Then he went on rather wistfully: "I may be wrong, Penelope.

But remember, my wife was a Davenant, nearer than Nan by one generation to Angele de Varincourt.

And she was never happy! Though I loved her, I couldn't make her happy." "I should have thought you would have made her happy if any man could," said Penelope gently.
"My dear, it's given to very few men to make a woman of temperament happy.

And Nan is so like my dear, dead Annabel that, if for no other reason, I should always wish to give her what happiness I can." He paused, then went on thoughtfully: "Unfortunately money won't buy happiness.

I can't do very much for her--only give her what money can buy.