He was hoist with his own petard, in short; and stood there nonplussed, vexed alike at himself and at circumstance.
A soft wind, meanwhile, caressed him, as hesitating, uncertain what to do next, he glanced out over the smiling sea and then back at the delicate shore line, the white house, the huge evergreen trees and brilliant flower garden.

A glamour covered the scene.

It was lovely, intimately, radiantly lovely as he had lately declared it.

Yet just now he grew distrustful, as though its fair seeming cloaked some subtle trickery and deceit.

He began to wish he had not undertaken this expedition to Deadham; but gone straight from the normal, solidly engrained philistinism of dear old Canton Magna to join his ship.