The Bishop once said of him that he was so impressed with the fact that dolls were stuffed with sawdust that it was impossible not to be fond of him.
Wentworth in spite of his sweeping emotions was still unconsciously meditating a possible retreat as regards Fay, was still glancing furtively over his shoulder.

Strange how that involuntary, self-protective attitude on a man's part is never lost on a woman, however dense she may otherwise be, almost always ends by ruining him with her.

Others besides Lot's wife have become petrified by looking back.
Fay, he reflected, must make it perfectly clear to him that if he did propose he would be accepted--she in short must commit herself--and then--after all a bachelor's life had great charm.

But still--at any rate he might come back from Lostford this afternoon by way of Pilgrim Road.

That would tie him to nothing.