The very falsehood that stained her, was a proof how blindly she loved another--this dark, slight, elegant, handsome man--while he himself was rough, and stern, and strongly made. He lashed himself into an agony of fierce jealousy. He thought of that look, that attitude!--how he would have laid his life at her feet for such tender glances, such fond detention! He mocked at himself, for having valued the mechanical way in which she had protected him from the fury of the mob; now he had seen how soft and bewitching she looked when with a man she really loved. He remembered, point by point, the sharpness of her words--"There was not a man in all that crowd for whom she would not have done as much, far more readily than for him." He shared with the mob, in her desire of averting bloodshed from them; but this man, this hidden lover, shared with nobody; he had looks, words, hand-cleavings, lies, concealment, all to himself.
Mr. Thornton was conscious that he had never been so irritable as he was now, in all his life long; he felt inclined to give a short abrupt answer, more like a bark than a speech, to every one that asked him a question; and this consciousness hurt his pride: he had always piqued himself on his self-control, and control himself he would. So the manner was subdued to a quiet deliberation, but the matter was even harder and sterner than common. He was more than usually silent at home; employing his evenings in a continual pace backwards and forwards, which would have annoyed his mother exceedingly if it had been practised by any one else; and did not tend to promote any forbearance on her part even to this beloved son.

The falsehood was proof of how blindly she loved another - this dark, slight, handsome man - while he himself was rough, and stern, and strongly made.
He lashed himself into an agony of fierce jealousy. He thought of that look, that attitude! He would have laid his life at her feet for such tender glances! He mocked himself, for having valued the mechanical way in which she had protected him from the fury of the mob; now he had seen how soft and bewitching she looked when with a man she really loved. This man, this hidden lover, had her looks, words, hand-cleavings, lies, concealment, all to himself.
Mr. Thornton was conscious that he had never been so irritable in his life as he was now. He felt inclined to give a short abrupt answer, like a bark, to every question; and this hurt his pride, for he had always piqued himself on his self-control. So he subdued his manner, but it was a hard task. He was more than usually silent at home; spending his evenings pacing backwards and forwards, which would have annoyed his mother exceedingly if it had been done by anyone else; and was tiresome even in this beloved son.
