It did not appear to him that he could be the same to Miss Baker now; their little habits were disarranged, their customs broken up.

He could no longer fancy himself so near to her.

They would drift apart now, and she would no longer make herself a cup of tea and "keep company" with him when she knew that he would never again sit before his table binding uncut pamphlets.

He had sold his happiness for money; he had bartered all his tardy romance for some miserable banknotes.

He had not foreseen that it would be like this.