She realized now that there was truth in what Clarence Weston said when he told her that the failures were soon forgotten.

That, however, was a matter that depended largely on one's point of view, and she could not regard him as a failure.
There was in Ida Stirling a vein of wholesome simplicity which made for clearness of vision, and she seldom shrank from looking even an unwelcome truth squarely in the face.

That Clarence Weston was probably shoveling railroad gravel did not count with her, but she was reasonably sure that the fact that she was a young woman with extensive possessions would have a deterrent effect on him.

She once or twice had felt a curious compelling tenderness for him when in his presence, but reflection had come later, and she could not be sure that she loved him well enough to marry him, should he offer her the opportunity.

During the last few months she had become more uncertain on this point, for her English visit was having an effect on her that she had not expected.
In the meanwhile the insistent clamor of the city was forcing itself on her attention, until at length she became engrossed by it.