CHAPTER VII
1
Stephen married Stella in January, four months after he first saw her. He thought he loved her. Most sincerely he thought he loved her. He desired to be with her—terribly, terrifyingly—more than he had ever desired to be with any girl. Moreover, he felt very tenderly towards her. He was aware of her limitations, of her little crudities, but what if she did make a few mistakes in grammar, a few mistakes in taste, occasionally. She was wonderfully sweet-tempered, always amiable, always gay, as easily pleased as a child, as easily guided, he believed.
Once, when he corrected her for one of her grammatical offenses (she would say "somewheres"; and "would of" for "would have"; and "got a" for "got to"—"got a-laughing," "got a-going"; and "lay" for "lie"; and "how does it suit," and "how do you like," without an object), she replied good-naturedly, "That's right, Mr. Harvard of Bawston, teach me to talk like you do. I'm crazy to learn."
Stephen thought that he could make her over, rub down the rough edges once they were married, once he had her alone to himself. Alone, to himself! Blinding possibility! Well, well, he must use his head, too!
Of course she was different from the girls he used
