“I am sure you may,” said Lydgate, seizing the proposition with some hope. “She would feel honored⁠—cheered, I think, by the proof that you at least have some respect for me. I will not speak to her about your coming⁠—that she may not connect it with my wishes at all. I know very well that I ought not to have left anything to be told her by others, but⁠—”

He broke off, and there was a moment’s silence. Dorothea refrained from saying what was in her mind⁠—how well she knew that there might be invisible barriers to speech between husband and wife. This was a point on which even sympathy might make a wound. She returned to the more outward aspect of Lydgate’s position, saying cheerfully⁠—