It was sad to see
how completely the stronger and worse nature had absorbed the weaker and
better one till all power of volition and free agency vanished, and even
individuality was lost. She was not sentimental or demonstrative in his
presence (on the contrary, at such times, that loveliest face was very
apt to put on the delicious _mine mutine_, which made it perfectly
irresistible), but the idea seemed never to enter her mind that it would
be possible to resist or controvert any seriously-expressed wish of
her--_lover_. There! the word is written; and woe is me! that I dare not
erase it. It must have come sooner or later, and it is as well to have
got it over.
According to all rules for such cases laid down and provided, Cecil's
life ought to have been spent in alternations between feverish
excitement and poignant remorse. But the truth must be told--she was
unaccountably happy. The simple fact was that she had no time to be
otherwise. Even when entirely alone her conscience could find no
opportunity of asserting itself. Her thoughts were amply occupied with
recalling every word that Royston had said, and with anticipating what
he would say at their next meeting.
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