He was too delicate over the idea of the married woman whom he fancied he loved in her maidenhood.

Others might press her hand, lead her the dance: he simply wanted his release.

She had set him on fire; he conceived a method for trampling the remaining sparks and erasing stain and scars; that was all.

Henrietta rejected her wealthy suitor: she might some day hence be seen crawling abjectly to wealth, glad of a drink from the cup it holds, intoxicated with the draught.
An injured pride could animate his wealth to crave solace of such a spectacle.
Devilish, if you like.

He had expiated the wickedness in Cistercian seclusion.