Why, was he not yet young?
What are five-and-thirty years behind one, when bliss unutterable beckons forward?
It should all be forgotten, that grimy past poisoned through and through with the stench of candles.

Books, books, and time to use them, and a hearth about which love is busy--what more can you offer son of man than these?
He had written his acceptance, had endeavoured to write his thanks.

The words were ineffectual.
Egremont received him in his study with gladness.

This man had impressed him powerfully, was winning an ever larger place in his affection.

He welcomed him as he would have done an old friend, for whose coming he had looked with impatience.
'Do you smoke ?' he asked.
No, Gilbert did not smoke.