Withal not crushed, sub-ironic without a trace of acidity, and with a simple manner which put people at ease quickly.
They had a long conversation on the terrace commanding an extended view of the town and the harbour.
The splendid immobility of the bay resting under his gaze, with its grey spurs and shining indentations, helped Renouard to regain his self-possession, which he had felt shaken, in coming out on the terrace, into the setting of the most powerful emotion of his life, when he had sat within a foot of Miss Moorsom with fire in his breast, a humming in his ears, and in a complete disorder of his mind.

There was the very garden seat on which he had been enveloped in the radiant spell.

And presently he was sitting on it again with the professor talking of her.
Near by the patriarchal Dunster leaned forward in a wicker arm-chair, benign and a little deaf, his big hand to his ear with the innocent eagerness of his advanced age remembering the fires of life.
It was with a sort of apprehension that Renouard looked forward to seeing Miss Moorsom.

And strangely enough it resembled the state of mind of a man who fears disenchantment more than sortilege.

But he need not have been afraid.