And she, extraordinary to behold, was radiantly content.
"_Just like her mother over again_," the Bishop had wrathfully said to himself as he drove away from his daughter's door.

And at that moment a slide was drawn back from his mind, and he saw that the marriage was a replica of his own, except in so far that his son-in-law, greatly assisted by circumstances, had actually taken a little trouble to arrange his marriage for himself, while the Bishop's--what there was of it--had been done for him by his mother.
Till this morning he had believed his marriage to have been an ideally happy one, that he had felt all that man can feel; and he had been inclined to treat as womanish the desperate desolation of men who had after all only suffered the same bereavement as he had himself, and which he had quickly overcome.

He saw now that he had missed happiness exactly as his son-in-law was missing it.

The same thing had befallen them both.

Love could do there no mighty works because of their unbelief.