That, of course, was what God had meant her to do all the time.

Never again could she look at her husband with eyes of mortal passion.

But her love, which had died, was risen again; it could still turn to him a glorified and spiritual face; it could still know passion, a passion immortal and supreme.
But it was an emotion of which by its very nature she could not bring herself to speak.

It could mean nothing to Walter in his yet unspiritual state.

She felt that when he came to her he would insist on some satisfaction, and there was no satisfaction that she could give to the sort of claim he would make.