I knew a man once who came to my rooms one evening, and while smoking a cigar confessed to me moodily that he was trying to discover some graceful way of retiring out of existence.

I didn't study his case, but I had a glimpse of him the other day at a cricket match, with some women, having a good time.
That seems a fairly reasonable attitude.

Considered as a sin, it is a case for repentance before the throne of a merciful God.

But I imagine that Flora de Barral's religion under the care of the distinguished governess could have been nothing but outward formality.

Remorse in the sense of gnawing shame and unavailing regret is only understandable to me when some wrong had been done to a fellow-creature.