She might be cold, and proud, and even rude to his family, as she unquestionably had been, but she was still Ethie, his young wife, whom he loved so dearly; and bending over her, he smoothed the silken bands of her beautiful hair and said to her softly, "What is it, darling?
Anything worse than homesickness?
Has anyone injured you ?" No one had injured her.

On the contrary, all had met, or tried to meet her with kindness, which she had thrust back upon them.

Ethelyn knew this as well as anyone, and Mrs.Markham, washing her dishes below stairs, and occasionally wiping her eyes with the corner of the check apron as she thought how all her trouble had been thrown away upon a proud, ungrateful girl, could not think less of Ethie than Ethie thought of herself, upstairs sobbing among the pillows.

The family were ignorant and ill bred, as she counted ignorance and ill breeding; but they did mean to be kind to her, and she hated herself for her ingratitude in not at least seeming pleased with their endeavors to please her.

Added to this was a vague remembrance of a certain look seen in Richard's eye--a look which made her uneasy as she thought, "What if he should hate me, too ?" Richard was all Ethelyn had to cling to now.