Yet, in truth, she had no notion of anatomizing her thoughts or feelings.

They had come to be largely, almost wholly occupied by a new inmate, but she was simply content that it should be so, without once considering the subject.
One person, however, spent many bitter thoughts upon this recent change.
To Maurice Leigh every day had brought a more thorough knowledge of Lucia's infatuation and of his own loss.

He had loved her almost all his life, and would love her faithfully now, and always; but he began to be aware now, that he required more of her than the affection which he could still claim; that he wanted her daily companionship; her sympathy in all that interested him; her confidence with regard to all that concerned herself.

He wanted all this; but he could do without it: he could love her and wait, if that were all.

But what was hardest, nay, almost unendurable, was the anticipation of her day of disenchantment, when she must see the truth as he saw it now, and find herself thrown aside to learn, in solitude and suffering, how blindly she had suffered herself to be duped by a fair appearance.