That one day was the sun of his life.

It had been a day of rain, and he beheld it in memory just as it had been, with the dark threaded air, the dripping streets; and he glorified it past all daily radiance.

His letter was a burning hymn to the day.

His moral grandeur on the day made him live as part of the splendour.

Was it possible for the woman who had seen him then to be faithless to him?
The swift deduction from his own feelings cleansed her of a suspicion to the contrary, and he became lighthearted.