There had been moments in which he had been almost ashamed of his love,--and now he did not know whether to be most ashamed or most proud of it.

But he recognised the fact that it was crucifying him, and that it would continue to crucify him.

He knew himself in London to be a popular man,--one of those for whom, according to general opinion, girls should sigh, rather than one who should break his heart sighing for a girl.

He had often told himself that it was beneath his manliness to be despondent; that he should let such a trouble run from him like water from a duck's back, consoling himself with the reflection that if the girl had such bad taste she could hardly be worthy of him.

He had almost tried to belong to that school which throws the heart away and rules by the head alone.