Even while he was eating it, he kept occasionally touching up the letters of these words.

When he had drunk a glass of ale he began again to write: fluently this time, for he was giving an account of the plough.

Then came another long stop; he was weighing in his own mind what he should say about Kinraid.

Once he thought for a second of writing to Sylvia herself, and telling her---how much?
She might treasure up her lover's words like grains of gold, while they were lighter than dust in their meaning to Philip's mind; words which such as the specksioneer used as counters to beguile and lead astray silly women.

It was for him to prove his constancy by action; and the chances of his giving such proof were infinitesimal in Philip's estimation.