In fact, he had written no love-poem.
Annabel and her father observed a change in him since his last visit.
This was the first time that he had come without an express invitation, and they gathered from his speech that he had at length found some definite object for his energies.

His friends had for a long time been asking what he meant to do with his life.

It did not appear that he purposed literary effort, though it seemed the natural outlet for his eager thought; and of the career of politics he at all times spoke with contempt.

Was he one of the men, never so common as nowadays, who spend their existence in canvassing the possibilities that lie before them and delay action till they find that the will is paralysed?
One did not readily set Egremont in that class, principally, no doubt, because he was so free from the offensive forms of self-consciousness which are wont to stamp such men.

The pity of it, too, if talents like his were suffered to rust unused; the very genuineness of his idealism made one believe in him and look with confidence to his future.
Having dined, all went forth to enjoy the evening upon the lawn.