She had, it seemed, started life with a very exalted ideal of married life, which the duke's coarse thumb And finger failed to plumb.
Michael remained outwardly obdurate, but inwardly he weakened.

His tender adoration and respect for Fay, wounded and mutilated though they had been, had nevertheless survived what in many minds must have proved their death-blow.

He still believed implicitly all she said.
But to him her marriage was the impassable barrier, a barrier as enfranchisable as the brown earth on a coffin lid.
After many months Fay at last vaguely realised his attitude towards her.
She told herself that she respected it, that it was just what she wished, was in fact the result of her own tactfully expressed wishes.
She seemed to remember things she had said which would have led him to behave just as he had done.

And then she turned heaven and earth to regain her personal ascendency over him.

She never would have regained it if an accident had not befallen her.