Living in the same house, they saw almost as much of each other as if they had been married, and from the evenings she spent there, Jenny had come to regard Theophil's room and his books as hers too.
She had developed wonderfully in these months, had Jenny.

She was a real little great man's wife now; and as Theophil looked at her, with her lit eager face, her whole soul so alive to help him in however humble a way, her whole life his, his, his,--such love seemed almost tragic in its very beauty and joy.

It was so irremediably--love.

At times he almost trembled before it.

He would almost chide her with its divine completeness.
What if he were to be taken from her?
Oughtn't she to keep just a little of herself for foothold?
We ought all to belong to ourselves as well as to another.