She scarce dares to look out of the windows of her new home upon the
world, lest it should know and reproach her. All the sisterhood of
friendship is cut off from her. If she dares to go abroad she feels the
sneer of the world as she goes through it; and knows that malice and
scorn whisper behind her. People, as criminal but undiscovered, make room
for her, as if her touch were pollution. She knows she has darkened the
lot and made wretched the home of the man whom she loves best; that his
friends who see her, treat her with but a doubtful respect; and the
domestics who attend her, with a suspicious obedience. In the country
lanes, or the streets of the county town, neighbours look aside as the
carriage passes in which she sits splendid and lonely. Rough hunting
companions of her husband's come to her table: he is driven perforce to
the company of flatterers and men of inferior sort; his equals, at least
in his own home, will not live with him. She would be kind, perhaps, and
charitable to the cottagers round about her, but she fears to visit them
lest they too should scorn her.
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