Her constant apprehension was lest familiarity should diminish her charm in his eyes.

Wilfrid was no less critical than he had ever been; she suspected that he required much of her.

Did he seek more than she would eventually be able to give?
Was she exhausting the resources of her personal charm?
Such thoughts as these made curious alternations in her manner towards him; one day she would endeavour to support a reserve which should surpass his own, another she lost herself in bursts of emotion.

The very care which she bestowed upon her personal appearance was a result of her anxiety on this point; in the last resort she knew herself to be beautiful, and to her beauty he was anything but insensible.

Yet such an influence was wretchedly insufficient; she must have his uttermost love, and never yet had she attained full assurance of possessing it.
Little did Wilfrid suspect the extent to which her thoughts were occupied with that faint, far-off figure of Emily Hood.