Two tears grew half-way into his eyes:--they were a little bloodshot, but kind, true eyes.

He was not sorry he had married again, for he and his wife were at peace with each other, but he had found that the same part of his mind would not serve to think of the two: they belonged to different zones of his unexplored world.

For one thing, his present wife looked up to him with perfect admiration, and he, knowing his own poverty, rather looked down upon her in consequence, though in a loving, gentle, and gentlemanlike way.
He was shown into the same room, looking out on the churchyard, where in the first months of his married life, he sat and heard his wife sing her few songs, accompanying them on the little piano he had saved hard to buy for her, until she made him love them.

It had lasted only through those few months; after her first baby died, she rarely sang.

But all the colors and forms of the room were different, and that made it easier to check the lump rising in his throat.