Though half her occupation would be
gone, she would feel for him a respect which would rebound on her and
make her admirable to herself, but she knew that life cannot be too
lavish of its gifts or death would always have the victory. This was
not what she had looked for, but it was good enough; she was necessary
to him and always would be; she was sure of that, yet she constantly
repeated it; moreover, she loved his bigness and his physical strength
and the way the lines round his eyes wrinkled when he smiled; she knew
how to make him smile and now and then they had happy interludes when
they talked about crops and horses, profit and loss, the buying and
selling of stock, and felt their friendship for each other like a
mantle shared.
At the worst, she consoled herself, after a time of strain, it was
like riding a restive horse. There was danger which she loved: there
was need of skill and a light hand, of sympathy and tact, and she
never regretted the superman who was to have ruled her with a
fatiguing rod of iron. Here there was give and take; she had to let
him have his head and pull him up at the right moment and reward
docility with kindness; she even found a kind of pleasure, streaked
with disgust, in dealing with Christabel's suspicions, half expressed,
but present like shadowy people in her room.
Of these she never spoke to Francis, but she had a malicious affection
for them; they had, as it were, done her a good turn, and though they
hid like secret enemies in the corners, she recognized them as allies.
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