She defined no sensation to herself.

When the sun first bursts in April after the leaden winter skies, you bask in it, drench yourself in the fluid of its light, and ask no questions.

It is only the smallest natures that are not content with the moment that is absolute.
But in the mind of Traill, there swung a ponderous balance that could not find its equilibrium.

She had called him a gentleman; was he going to act as one?
Into her side of the scale, with both her little hands, she had thrown in her implicit confidence.

Was there any weight on his side which he could put in to equalize?
He hunted through his intentions as the goldsmith hunts amongst his drachms and his counterpoises; but he found nothing that could balance the massive quality of her faith--nothing! In his most emotional dreams of women, he had never conceived himself in the drab light of the married man.