Then he would kiss her pitiful little face and go without her.
By slow degrees it became a settled rule that Dora should stay at home and Ronald go out.

He had no scruples in leaving her--she never objected; her face was always smiling and bright when he went away, and the same when he returned.

He said to himself that Dora was happier at home than elsewhere, that fine ladies frightened her and made her unhappy.
Their ways in life, now became separate and distinct, Ronald going more than ever into society, Dora clinging more to the safe shelter of home.
But society was expensive in two ways--not only from the outlay in dress and other necessaries, but in the time taken from work.

There were many days when Ronald never went near his studio, and only returned home late in the evening to leave early in the morning.

He was only human, this young hero who had sacrificed so much for love; and there were times, after some brilliant fete or soiree, when the remembrance of home, Dora, hard work, narrow means, would come to him like a heavy weight or the shadow of a dark cloud.
Not that he loved her less--pretty, tender Dora; but there was not one feeling or taste in common between them.