You see, Dick [he read], I ought to have cut you; but I felt too crazy--everything seems so jolly at home, even this stuffy old London.
Of course, I wanted to talk to you badly--there are heaps of things one can't say by letter--but I should have been sorry afterwards.

I told mother.

She said I was quite right, but I don't think she took it in.
Don't you feel that the only thing that really matters is to have an ideal, and to keep it so safe that you can always look forward and feel that you have been--I can't exactly express my meaning.
Shelton lit a cigarette and frowned.

It seemed to him queer that she should set more store by an "ideal" than by the fact that they had met for the first and only time in many weeks.
"I suppose she 's right," he thought--"I suppose she 's right.

I ought not to have tried to speak to her!" As a matter of fact, he did not at all feel that she was right..