Did he not desire her happiness?
He tried to think so, but after all was ashamed to play the sophist with himself.

The letter he carried in his pocket told the truth.

He had but to think of her as married to Robert Narramore and the jealous fury of natural man drove him headlong.
Monday was again a holiday.

When would the cursed people get back to their toil, and let the world resume its wonted grind and clang?
They seemed to have been making holiday for a month past.
He walked up and down on the pavement near his door, until at the street corner there appeared a figure he knew.

It was Patty Ringrose, again unaccompanied..