The social
ideals of North and South had had their brief contention, and this time
the South had won.

It would have been well if he had been as strict over his own behaviour
as he was over hers. But the incongruity never occurred to him for
a moment. His morality was that of the average Latin, and as he was
suddenly placed in the position of a gentleman, he did not see why he
should not behave as such. Of course, had Lilia been different--had
she asserted herself and got a grip on his character--he might
possibly--though not probably--have been made a better husband as well
as a better man, and at all events he could have adopted the attitude of
the Englishman, whose standard is higher even when his practice is the
same. But had Lilia been different she might not have married him.

The discovery of his infidelity--which she made by accident--destroyed
such remnants of self-satisfaction as her life might yet possess. She
broke down utterly and sobbed and cried in Perfetta's arms. Perfetta was
kind and even sympathetic, but cautioned her on no account to speak to
Gino, who would be furious if he was suspected. And Lilia agreed, partly
because she was afraid of him, partly because it was, after all, the
best and most dignified thing to do. She had given up everything for
him--her daughter, her relatives, her friends, all the little comforts
and luxuries of a civilized life--and even if she had the courage to
break away, there was no one who would receive her now. The Herritons
had been almost malignant in their efforts against her, and all her
friends had one by one fallen off. So it was better to live on humbly,
trying not to feel, endeavouring by a cheerful demeanour to put things
right. "Perhaps," she thought, "if I have a child he will be different.
I know he wants a son."

Lilia had achieved pathos despite herself, for there are some situations
in which vulgarity counts no longer. Not Cordelia nor Imogen more
deserves our tears.

She herself cried frequently, making herself look plain and old, which
distressed her husband. He was particularly kind to her when he hardly
ever saw her, and she accepted his kindness without resentment, even
with gratitude, so docile had she become. She did not hate him, even as
she had never loved him; with her it was only when she was excited that
the semblance of either passion arose. People said she was headstrong,
but really her weak brain left her cold.

Suffering, however, i