Men like this kind of punishment.
Carrington did not attempt to defend himself; he even courted Sybil's attack.

They both enjoyed their ride through the bare woods, by the rippling spring streams, under the languid breath of the moist south wind.

It was a small idyll, all the more pleasant because there was gloom before and behind it.

Sybil's irrepressible gaiety made Carrington doubt whether, after all, life need be so serious a matter.

She had animal spirits in plenty, and it needed an effort for her to keep them down, while Carrington's spirits were nearly exhausted after twenty years of strain, and he required a greater effort to hold himself up.
There was every reason why he should be grateful to Sybil for lending to him from her superfluity.