He had suffered keenly when Sylvia married Dick, but the homage he had offered her had always been characterized by diffidence, springing from a doubt that she could be content with him; and after a sharp struggle he succeeded in convincing himself that his wound did not matter if she were happier with the more brilliant man.

He had entertained no hard thoughts of her: Sylvia could do no wrong.

His love for her sprang rather from respect than passion; in his eyes she was all that a woman ought to be.
In the meanwhile his new friends were discussing him in a car farther back along the train.
"I'm glad I had that Englishman by me in the crowd," the man remarked.
"He's cool and kept his head, did what was needed and nothing else.

I allow you owe him something for bringing you through." "Yes," said the girl; "he was quick and resolute." Then reserving the rest of her thoughts, she added: "His friend's amusing." "Percy?
Oh, yes," agreed her father.

"Nothing to notice about him--he's just one of the boys.