At first he insisted on remaining at
home with her, but she was too unselfish to allow him to sacrifice
himself. There was many an evening when she was unable to leave her
room, and when talking would bring on severe paroxysms of coughing. She
succeeded in prevailing upon him to visit the theatre without her, and
sometimes even to dine with a friend. After a time he got into the
habit of going about alone, and, although he was even more tender and
considerate than before, she felt an agonising consciousness that he
could, after all, do without her, which he had sworn ten thousand times
he never could. She began to have sleepless nights and passionate fits
of crying. Nemesis was coming upon her with gigantic strides. Philip did
not suspect that she was unhappy; he thought her illness affected her
spirits. A great change had come over her, which he deplored. She no
longer was the bright, amusing companion of yore.
Two more years went by. Virginia was almost a confirmed invalid--she
could only get out in fine summer weather--then her spirits rallied, and
she was something of her old self again. Philip often spent his evenings
away from home now; it become a habit; he did not suspect that Virginia
suffered from his absence, but thought that it was really her wish,
dear, unselfish soul that she was, that he should go out and be amused.
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