our to make her
happy. She knew that he was doing his best to be a loving husband, and
she felt, therefore, that she was bound to be loyal in her endeavours
to love him; but at the same time, at the very moment in which she was
receiving his words with outward show of satisfied love, her
imagination was picturing to her something else which would have been
so immeasurably superior, if only it had been possible.

That evening they dined together, alone; and it was the first time that
they had ever done so, except at an inn. Never before had been imposed
on her the duty of seeing that his dinner was prepared for him. There
certainly was very little of duty to perform in the matter, for he was
a man indifferent as to what he ate, or what he drank. The plainness of
the table at Manor Cross had surprised Mary, after the comparative
luxury of the deanery. All her lessons at Manor Cross had gone to show
that eating was not a delectation to be held in high esteem. But still
she was careful that everything around him should be nice. The
furniture was new, the glasses and crockery were new. Few, if any, of
the articles used, had ever been handled before. All her bridal
presents were there; and no doubt there was present to her mind the
fact that everything in the house had in truth been given to him by
her. If only she could make the things pleasant! If only he would allow
himself to be taught that nice things are nice! She hovered around him,
touching him every now and then with her light fingers, moving a lock
of his hair, and then stooping over him and kissing his brow. It might
still be that she would be able to galvanise him into that lover's
vitality, of which she had dreamed. He never rebuffed her; he did not
scorn her kisses, or fail to smile when his hair was moved; he answered
every word she spoke to him carefully and courteously; he admired her
pretty things when called upon to admire them. But through it all, she
was quite aware that she had not galvanised him as yet.

Of course there were books. Every proper preparation had been made for
rendering the little house pleasant. In the evening she took from her
shelf a delicate little volume of poetry, something exquisitely bound,
pretty to look at, and sweet to handle, and settled herself down to be
happy in her own drawing-room. But she soon looked up from the troubles
of Aurora Leigh to see what her husband was doing. He was comfortable
in his chair, but was busy with