All night did Winterborne think over that unsatisfactory ending of a pleasant time, forgetting the pleasant time itself.

He feared anew that they could never be happy together, even should she be free to choose him.

She was accomplished; he was unrefined.

It was the original difficulty, which he was too sensitive to recklessly ignore, as some men would have done in his place.
He was one of those silent, unobtrusive beings who want little from others in the way of favor or condescension, and perhaps on that very account scrutinize those others' behavior too closely.

He was not versatile, but one in whom a hope or belief which had once had its rise, meridian, and decline seldom again exactly recurred, as in the breasts of more sanguine mortals.