 than that she had no objection to be
adored: she turned her eyes on him with calm mercilessness and caused him many
mildly agitating hopes by seeming always to avoid dramatic contact with him -
for all meanings, we know, depend on the key of interpretation.
    Some persons might have thought beforehand that a young man of Anglican
leanings, having a sense of sacredness much exercised on small things as well as
great, rarely laughing save from politeness, and in general regarding the
mention of spades by their naked names as rather coarse, would not have seen a
fitting bride for himself in a girl who was daring in ridicule, and showed none
of the special grace required in the clergyman's wife; or, that a young man
informed by theological reading would have reflected that he was not likely to
meet the taste of a lively, restless young lady like Miss Harleth. But are we
always obliged to explain why the facts are not what some persons thought
beforehand? The apology lies on their side, who had that erroneous way of
thinking.
    As for Rex, who would possibly have been sorry for poor Middleton if he had
been aware of the excellent curate's inward conflict, he was too completely
absorbed in a first passion to have observation for any person or thing. He did
not observe Gwendolen; he only felt what she said or did, and the back of his
head seemed to be a good organ of information as to whether she was in the room
or out. Before the end of the first fortnight he was so deeply in love that it
was impossible for him to think of his life except as bound up with Gwendolen's.
He could see no obstacles, poor boy; his own love seemed a guarantee of hers,
since it was one with the unperturbed delight in her image, so that he could no
more dream of her giving him pain than an Egyptian could dream of snow. She sang
and played to him whenever he liked, was always glad of his companionship in
riding, though his borrowed steeds were often comic, was ready to join in any
fun of his, and showed a right appreciation of Anna. No mark of sympathy seemed
absent. That because Gwendolen was the most perfect creature in the world she
was to make a grand match, had not occurred to him. He had no conceit - at
least, not more than goes to make up the necessary gum and consistence of a
substantial personality: it was only that in the young bliss of loving he took
Gwendolen's perfection as part of that good which had seemed one with life to
him,
