Then, mastering himself once more, he resolved to be patient.
Slimy would not fail him.
He tried not to think of Ida in any way, but this was beyond his power.
Again and again she came before his mind.

When he endeavoured to supplant her by the image of Maud Enderby, the latter's face only irritated him.

Till now, it had been just the reverse; the thought of Maud had always brought quietness; Ida he had recognised as the disturbing element of his life, and had learned to associate her with his least noble instincts.

Thinking of this now, he began to marvel how it could have been so.

Was it true that Maud was his good angel, that in her he had found his ideal?
He had forced himself to believe this, now that he was in honour bound to her; yet she had never made his pulse quicken, as it had often done when he had approached Ida.