He had thought of asking the girl to let him take her to the supper-room, but at the sight of Lashmar he did not hesitate for a moment about retreating.

And at once he quitted the house.
Dymchurch had never inclined to tender experiences; his life so far was without romance.

Women more often amused than interested him; his humorous disposition found play among their lighter characteristics, and on the other hand--natural complement of humour--he felt a certain awe of the mysterious in their being.

Except his own sisters, whom, naturally enough, he regarded as quite exceptional persons, he had never been on terms of intimacy with any woman of the educated world.
Regarding marriage as impracticable--for he had always shrunk from the thought of accepting money with a wife--he gave as little heed as possible to the other sex, tried to leave it altogether out of account in his musings and reasonings upon existence.

Frankly he said to himself that he knew nothing about women, and that he was just as likely to be wrong as right in any theory he might form about their place in the world, their dues, their possibilities.