In the meantime her husband grew.  He became first manly, more manly than the average man, as is often the case with those who have an unusually long boyhood.  Then by culture and travel he developed the resources of a keenly observant and very thoughtful mind.  Then his love for his children made a naturally sweet temper sweeter still, and in the course of a very few years he had so completely left his wife behind, that it never occurred to him to think of her as a companion for his inner life.  He liked her; she never nagged; he considered her an excellent housekeeper; in fact, they were mutually pleased with one another; their cases were equal; both often thought they might have been worse off, and neither regretted with any keenness what they had never known.

Sometimes, having much sweetness of nature, it would chance that John Mortimer’s love for his children would overflow in his wife’s direction, on which, as if to recall him to himself, she would say, not coldly, but sensibly, “Don’t be silly, John dear.”  But if he expressed gratitude on her account, as he sometimes did when she had an infant of a few days old in her arms, if his soul appeared to draw nearer to her then, and he inclined to talk of deeper and wider things than they commonly spoke of, she was always distinctly aggrieved.  A tear perhaps would twinkle in her eye.  She was affected by his relief after anxiety, and his gratitude for her safety; but she did not like to feel affected, and brought him back to the common level of their lives as soon as possible.

So they lived together in peace and prosperity till they had seven children, and then, one fine autumn, Mrs. John Mortimer persuaded her father-in-law to do up the house, so far as papering and painting were concerned.  She then persuaded John to take a tour, and went herself to the sea-side with her children.

From this journey she did not return.  Their father had but just gone quite out of her reach when the children took scarlet fever, and she summoned their grandfather to her aid.  In this, her first great anxiety and trouble, for some of them were extremely ill, all that she had found most oppressive in his character appeared to suit her.  He pleased and satisfied her; but the children were hardly better, so that he had time to consider what it was that surprised him in her, when she fell ill herself, and before her husband reached home had died in his father’s arms.

All the children recovered.  John Mortimer took them home, and for the first six months after her death he was miserably disconsolate.  It was not because they had been happy, but because they had been so very comfortable.  He aggravated himself into thinking that he could have loved her more if he had only known how soon he should lose her; he looked at all their fine healthy joyous children, and grieved to think that now they were his only.

But the time came when he knew that he could have loved her much more if she would have let him; and when he had found out that, womankind in general went down somewhat in his opinion.  He made up his mind, as he thought, that he would not marry again; but this, he knew in his secret heart, was less for her sake than for his own.