And now they had five years to look back upon, years of love and struggle and discontent.

By turning his hand to many things, Fenwick had just managed to keep the wolf from the door.

He had worked hard, but without much success; and what had been an ordinary good opinion of himself had stiffened into a bitter self-assertion.

He knew very well that he was regarded as a conceited, quarrelsome fellow, and rather gloried in it.

The world, he considered, had so far treated him ill; he would at any rate keep his individuality.
Phoebe, too, once so sweet, so docile, so receptive, had begun to be critical, to resist him now and then.