meek slave, subservient to his caprices. She would go her
own way, and follow her own will, and make him do what she liked, whether
it pleased him or not.

Had Maurice cared to struggle with her for the mastery, things might have
ended differently, but it did not seem worth his while to struggle; as
long as she let him alone, and did not fret him with her incessant
jealousies and suspicions, he was content to let her do as she liked.

Even in that matter of living at Kynaston he learnt, in the end, to
give way to her. Sir John, who had already started for Australia, had
particularly requested him to occupy the house. Lady Kynaston did nothing
but urge it in every letter. Helen herself was bent upon it. There was
no good reason that he could bring forward against so reasonable and
sensible a plan. The house was all ready, newly decorated, and newly
furnished; they had nothing to do but to walk into it. It would save
all trouble in looking out for a country home elsewhere, and would,
doubtless, be an infinitely pleasanter abode for them than any other
house could be. It was the natural and rational thing for them to do.
Maurice knew of only one argument against it, and that one was in his own
heart, and he could speak of it to no one.

And yet, after all, what did it matter, what difference would it make? A
little nearer, a little further, how could it alter things for either of
them? How lessen the impassable gulf between her and him? It was in the
natural course of things that he must meet her at times; there would be
the stereotyped greeting, the averted glance, the cold shake of hands
that could never hope to meet without a pang; these things were almost
inevitable for them. A little oftener or a little seldomer, would it
matter very much then?

Maurice did not think it would; bound as he was to the woman whom he had
made his wife--tied to her by every law of God and of man, of honour, and
of manly feeling--that there should be any actual danger to be run by the
near proximity of the woman he had loved, did not even enter into his
head. If he had known how to do his duty towards Helen before he had
married her, would he not tenfold know how to do so now? Possibly he
over-rated his own strength; for, however high are our principles,
however exalted is our sense of honour--after all, we are but mortals,
and unspeakably weak at the very best.

It did not in any case occur to him to look at the question from Vera's
p