The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. While you talked I was only making our plans. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. “Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish.
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