How very lovable her face was to him. Yet there was nothing ethereal about it; all was real vitality, real warmth, real incarnation. And it was in he… - Thomas Hardy

She dismissed the past – trod upon it and put it out, as one treads on a coal that is smouldering and dangerous.

It works unconsciously, as heretofore, Eternal artistries in Circumstance.

"Clare could bear this no longer. His eyes were full of tears, which seemed like drops of molten lead. He bade a quick good-night to these sincere and simple souls whom he loved so well; who knew neither the world, the flesh, or the devil in their own hearts; only as something vague and external to themselves. He went to his own chamber.
His mother followed him, and tapped at his door. Clare opened it to discover her standing without, with anxious eyes.
"Angel," she asked, "is there something wrong that you must go away so soon? I am quite certain you are not yourself."
"I am not, quite, mother," said he.
"About her? Now, my son, I know it is that — I know it is about her! Have you quarreled in these three weeks?"
"We have not exactly quarreled," he said. "But we have had a difference — "
"Angel — is she a young woman whose history will bear investigation?"
With a mother's instinct Mrs. Clare had put her finger on the kind of trouble that would cause such a disquiet as seemed to agitate her son.
"She is spotless!" he replied; and he felt that if it had sent him to eternal hell there and then he would have told that lie. "