I disliked her coarse views of things, and followed her counsels doubtingly.
I have not described her to you yet, my children.

Imagine, then, a showy, frivolous-looking, blonde young woman, fond of pretty feathers, and flowers, and gay colours; pretty enough in her way, good-humoured and talkative.
I thought, then, that I had every reason to be grateful to her, and I blamed myself for not loving her spontaneously, as I had loved, as I still fought against loving Rachel.

I think now that I had no reason to be grateful to her.

If she had not been always by my side, so faithful, so watchful, so never-failing with her worldly lesson, I think I should have found a way out of the darkness of my trouble.

I think I should have softened a little when Rachel met me in the gallery, twined her soft arm round my neck, and asked me why we two should be so estranged.
I think I should have wept when John took my hand between his two and asked me, in God's name, to tell him why I had grown so altered.