The expression
upon her face he could only describe as "queer". At another time,
indeed, he made it appear that he thought she was glad. It is easy
to imagine that she was glad, since at that time she could have had
no idea of what was really happening. Frankly, she adored Edward
Ashburnham. He was for her, in everything that she said at that
time, the model of humanity, the hero, the athlete, the father of his
country, the law-giver. So that for her, to be suddenly, intimately
and overwhelmingly praised must have been a matter for mere
gladness, however overwhelming it were. It must have been as if a
god had approved her handiwork or a king her loyalty. She just sat
still and listened, smiling. And it seemed to her that all the
bitterness of her childhood, the terrors of her tempestuous father,
the bewailings of her cruel-tongued mother were suddenly atoned
for. She had her recompense at last. Because, of course, if you
come to figure it out, a sudden pouring forth of passion by a man
whom you regard as a cross between a pastor and a father might,
to a woman, have the aspect of mere praise for good conduct. It
wouldn't, I mean, appear at all in the light of an attempt to gain
possession.
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