As it _was_ in the House.

For he understood in Italy what was still the most bitter to know, that though it might yet be somewhere in the world, he was never to find it any more.

Toward all that once had led him thither, his sense was locked and sealed.

He remembered Eunice Goodward--the fact of her--how tall she was as she walked beside him--but not how at the soft brushing of her hair as she turned, his blood had sung to her; nor all the weeks of their engagement like a morning full of wings.

And he could not yet recall so much as the bare reasons for her break with him except that they had been unhappy ones.
It had been a part of a long plan that he and Eunice should have seen Italy together, but for the moment he did not wish her there.