Then she knelt before the fire, warming her ice-cold hands on which the two- weeks' familiar ring seemed to shine with a fatal glitter.

She kept moving it up and down with a nervous habit that she was trying vainly to conquer.
"A mistake," she muttered, "Perhaps my marriage, too, was a mistake, irretrievable, irremediable, as he may himself think now, only he was too kind to let me see it.

What am I to do?
Nothing.

I can do nothing.
'Until death us do part.' Do I wish for death--my death, of course--to come and part us ?" She could not, even to herself, answer that question.
"What was he saying--that God teaches us by our very errors--that there is no such thing as 'might have been ?' He thinks so, and he is very wise, far wiser and better than I am.

I might have loved him.