When people met him continually unaccompanied by his young wife they smiled significantly, and bright eyes grew soft with pity.

Poor, pretty Dora! Ronald never knew how the long hours of his absence were spent by Dora.
She never looked sad or weary to him, he never saw any traces of tears, yet Dora shed many.

Through the long sunny hours and far into the night she sat alone, thinking of the home she had left in far-off England--where she had been loved and worshiped by her rough, homely, honest father and a loving mother; thinking too, of Ralph, and his pretty, quiet homestead in the green fields, where she would have been honored as its mistress, where no fine ladies would have vexed her with questions, and no one would have thought her ignorant or awkward; thinking of all these things, yet loving Ronald none the less, except that a certain kind of fear began to mingle with her love.
Gradually, slowly, but surely, the fascination of the gay and brilliant society in which Ronald was so eagerly courted laid hold of him.

He did not sin willfully or consciously; little by little a distaste for his own home and a weariness of Dora's society overcame him.

He was never unkind to her, for Ronald was a gentleman; but he lingered no more through the long sunny morning by her side.