The inconceivable had come to pass.

By a word and a look Harvey had made real what he was always telling himself could never be more than a dream, and a dream of unutterable folly.

Mrs.Frothingham's unconscious intervention availed him nothing; he had spoken, and must speak again.
For a man of sensitive honour there could be no trilling in such a matter as this with a girl in Alma Frothingham's position.

And did he not rejoice that wavering was no longer possible?
This was love; but of what quality?
He no longer cared, or dared, to analyse it.

Too late for all that.