He was patient and
chivalrous and tender; but he was hardly able to go to her level, and
as she could not come to his, the pair had little in common. He felt
that somehow this must be his fault; he told himself that, as the
larger nature, it should be his place to make concessions, to master
the situation, and to secure Ninitta's happiness, whatever came to him.
He had even come to feel so much tenderness toward the mother of his
child, the woman in whose behalf he had made the great sacrifice of his
life, that a pale but steadfast glow of affection shone always in his
heart for his wife. But his patience, his delicacy, his steadfastness
counted for little with Ninitta. She had been separated from him for
long years of betrothal, during which he had developed and changed
utterly. She had clung to her love and faith, but her love and faith
were given to an ardent youth glowing with a passion of which it was
hardly possible to rekindle the faint embers in the bosom of the man
she married. Even Ninitta, little given to analysis, could not fail to
recognize that her husband was a very different being from the lover
she had known ten years before. One fervid blaze of the old love would
have appealed more strongly to her peasant soul than all the patience
and tender forbearance of years.
Indeed, it is doubtful whether Ninitta might not have been better and
happier had Herman been less kind.
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