From the first he had understood that Monica was no representative shopgirl, and on that very account he had striven so eagerly to win her.

But it was a mistake.

He had loved her, still loved her, with all the emotion of which he was capable.

How many hours' genuine happiness of soul had that love afforded him?
The minutest fraction of the twelve months for which she had been his wife.
And of suffering, often amounting to frantic misery, he could count many weeks.

Could such a marriage as this be judged a marriage at all, in any true sense of the word?
'Let me ask myself a question.