ing him at a time like this—at the great hour of his triumph, to leave him alone!
He accused himself not at all for this desertion by her; he knew she was wholly ignorant of his unfaithfulness. No, so far as she could know, he was faithful to her as he had been faithful and kept himself faithful to her, by God, during the long, lonely, totally unjustified periods of her first desertions of him. Not many men—he told himself—would have endured that as long as he had; they would have done as he had or got a divorce.
He would have proceeded about a divorce, if that really had been the kinder alternative for him to take; but he had argued that it was not the kinder, even when considering solely his wife. For as his wife, in the relation which she maintained to him in these last years, she was thoroughly happy; she was getting what she wanted out of life—and from him, he considered bitterly. She always had got just what she wanted out of their marriage; from the very first, when she, so cool, so sure of herself, so provoking of his passions, had drawn him and known that she had him, she had let him win her because she intended to obtain, through him, just exactly what she wanted; and she had obtained it.
And he had been glad to give it to her; for he liked position, too, of course; he liked money and influence; but also he wanted, and had right to expect of her, more than that, while she—well, she seemed actually able to call it being a man's wife to bear his name proudly (for she undoubtedly was proud of him), to spend his money and do herself and him credit by the way she gained place in the world for Mrs. Charles Hale. He was proud of her for that; but pride in
