Would it not be better at once to break off these impossible relations?
How often he had promised himself, in moments of clear thought, never again to enter on a course which would obviously involve him in futile suffering.

Why had he not now the strength to obey his reason, and continue to possess his soul in the calm of which he had enjoyed a brief taste?
The novel circumstances of the past week had almost driven from his mind all thought of Maud Enderby.

He regretted having asked and obtained permission to write to her.

She seemed so remote from him, their meeting so long past.

What could there be in common between himself and that dim, quiet little girl, who had excited his sympathy merely because her pretty face was made sad by the same torments which had afflicted him?
He needed some strong, vehement, original nature, such as Ida Starr's; how would Maud's timid conventionality--doubtless she was absolutely conventional--suit with the heresies of which he was all compact?
Still, he could not well ignore what had taken place between them, and, after all, there would be a certain pleasant curiosity in awaiting her reply.