He would like this final meal to be the pleasantest of all their meals, and although, of course, he had no right to form an opinion on the matter, he thought that perhaps she might like it, too.

They were going to part, to enter on different walks of life--for now, be it said, he had quite convinced himself that she was engaged--so let their parting memories of each other be as agreeable as possible.
Meanwhile, Stella also had her reflections.

Her conversation with her father had troubled her, more, perhaps, than her remarks might have suggested.

There was little between this pair except the bond of blood, which sometimes seems to be so curiously accidental, so absolutely devoid of influence in promoting mutual sympathies, or in opening the door to any deep and real affection.

Still, notwithstanding this lack of true intimacy, Stella loved her father as she felt that he loved her, and it gave her pain to be forced to cross his wishes.