Book 2 The Land of Mockery Chapter 19

"My dear girl," said Philip gaily, "I am more conscientious than you are, at any rate, for you never read them at all!"

"Ah, but you must remember," she returned gravely, "that is because I do not understand them! I am not clever. They seem to me to be all about such dull things--unless there is some horrible murder or cruelty or accident--and I would rather not hear of these. I do prefer books always--because the books last, and news is never certain--it may not even be true."

Her husband looked at her fondly; his thoughts were evidently very far away from newspapers and their contents.

As she met his gaze, the rich color flushed her soft cheeks and her eyes drooped shyly under their long lashes. Love, with her, had not yet proved an illusion,--a bright toy to be snatched hastily and played with for a brief while, and then thrown aside as broken and worthless. It seemed to her a most marvellous and splendid gift of God, increasing each day in worth and beauty,--widening upon her soul and dazzling her life in ever new and expanding circles of glory. She felt as if she could never sufficiently understand it,--the passionate adoration Philip lavished upon her, filled her with a sort of innocent wonder and gratitude, while her own overpowering love and worship of him, sometimes startled her by its force into a sweet shame and hesitating fear. To her mind he was all that was great, strong, noble, and beautiful--he was her master, her king,--and she loved to pay him homage by her exquisite humility, clinging tenderness, and complete, contented submission. She was neither weak nor timid,--her character, moulded on grand and simple lines of duty, saw the laws of Nature in their true light, and accepted them without question. It seemed to her quite clear that man was the superior,--woman the inferior, creature--and she could not understand the possibility of any wife not rendering instant and implicit obedience to her husband, even in trifles.