In time Sir Joseph Branwin gradually recovered his usual rude health, although there was no doubt that the unexpected and tragic¹ death of his wife had shaken his system severely². But his feeling for her decease was not one of regret. Doubtless he had once loved her in an animal way, which might have had its beginning in a purer affection, when the rustic³ lovers wandered as boy and girl through the Bleakleigh Woods in Somersetshire. But since the big man had become a prominent personage in the political, social and stockbroking⁴ worlds, the uncomely looks of the poor woman had rapidly become offensive to his more cultivated taste. He was annoyed by her unwieldy appearance, by her simple manners; and it irritated him that she was not sufficiently⁵ educated to shine in the circles to which his wealth procured⁶ him admission. The rich setting of success suited to a diamond was thrown away on a common stone. And Lady Branwin--as Sir Joseph wrathfully told himself on many occasions--was merely an ordinary pebble⁹ on the beach.