What with the physical and moral force that seemed to radiate from Anderson, and bring stimulus with them to the weaker life--and what with the lad's sick alienation for the moment from his ordinary friends and occupations, Anderson reigned supreme, often clearly to his own trouble and embarrassment.

Had it not been for Philip, Portman Square would have seen him but seldom.

That Elizabeth knew with a sharp certainty, dim though it might be to her mother.

But as it was, the boy's tragic clinging to his new friend governed all else, simply because at the bottom of each heart, unrecognised and unexpressed, lurked the same foreboding, the same fear of fears.
The tragic clinging was also, alack, a tragic selfishness.

Philip had a substantial share of that quick perception which in Elizabeth became something exquisite and impersonal, the source of all high emotions.
When Delaine had first suggested to him "an attachment" between Anderson and his sister, a hundred impressions of his own had emerged to verify the statement and aggravate his wrath; and when Anderson had said "a man of my history is not going to ask your sister to marry him," Philip perfectly understood that but for the history the attempt would have been made.