He was made like that; and if you were fond of anybody the only possible way of living up to your affection was to attach yourself to their qualities.
They strolled a little way in silence.
"And why did you tell Uncle Robert about Sylvia Falbe ?" asked Francis.
"I can't understand that.

For the present, anyhow, she had refused you.
There was nothing to tell him about.

If I was fond of a girl like that I should say nothing about it, if I knew my people would disapprove, until I had got her." Michael laughed.
"Oh, yes you would," he said, "if you were to use your own words, fond of her 'like that.' You couldn't help it.

At least, I couldn't.
It's--it's such a glory to be fond like that." He stopped.
"We won't talk about it," he said--"or, rather, I can't talk about it, if you don't understand." "But she had refused you," said the sensible Francis.
"That makes no difference.

She shines through everything, through the infernal awfulness of these days, through my father's anger, and my mother's illness, whatever it proves to be--I think about them really with all my might, and at the end I find I've been thinking about Sylvia.