He knew that he had been happier on that lawn at Allington, and more contented with himself, than ever he had been even under Lady Hartletop's splendid roof in Shropshire.

Lady Dumbello was satisfied with these things, even in the inmost recesses of her soul; but he was not a male Lady Dumbello.

He knew that there was something better, and that that something was within his reach.
But, nevertheless, the air of Courcy was too much for him.

In arguing the matter with himself he regarded himself as one infected with a leprosy from which there could be no recovery, and who should, therefore, make his whole life suitable to the circumstances of that leprosy.

It was of no use for him to tell himself that the Small House at Allington was better than Courcy Castle.