Mary was still to him the girl who had been brought up by his aunt at Bragton, and not the fit companion for Larry Twentyman.
Reginald Morton had certainly not made up his mind to ask Mary Masters to be his wife.

Thinking of Mary Masters very often as he had done during the last two months, he was quite sure that he did not mean to marry at all.

He did acknowledge to himself that were he to allow himself to fall in love with any one it would be with Mary Masters,--but for not doing so there were many reasons.

He had lived so long alone that a married life would not suit him; as a married man he would be a poor man; he himself was averse to company, whereas most women prefer society.

And then, as to this special girl, had he not reason for supposing that she preferred another man to him, and a man of such a class that the very preference showed her to be unfit to mate with him?
He also cozened himself with an idea that it was well that he should have the opportunity which the journey would give him of apologising for his previous rudeness to her.
In the carriage they had the compartment to themselves with the exception of an old lady at the further end who had a parrot in a cage for which she had taken a first-class ticket.