His words seemed but the honorable and logical sequence of what had gone before.

For some reason this girl in the broad light of day did not appear to be the same as when she had fascinated him in the witching moonlight the evening before.

It was not that her beauty had gone with the glamour of the night, but he had been breathing a different and a purer atmosphere.

Madge had been revealing what to him seemed ideal womanhood.
In regard to Stella his illusion had so far passed that he thought, consciously, "Even at her best she is presenting Wildmere traits; her very self-sacrifice takes on a Wildmere form, and there is a flavor of Wall Street in it all." But he still believed that he loved her, and that, if she was equal to such great though mistaken self-sacrifice for her father, she would, under his influence, throw off certain imperfections and gain a better tone.
That such thoughts were passing through his mind was a bad omen for the continuance of Miss Wildmere's power, and yet the opportunity of her life was still hers.

She had simply to put her hand into his with a look of trust, and abide by the act, to secure a loyalty that would always have tried to promote her best interests.