Joyous alike at his lonely easel or amidst his boon companions, he had not yet known enough of sorrow to love deeply.
For man must be disappointed with the lesser things of life before he can comprehend the full value of the greatest.

It is the shallow sensualists of France, who, in their salon-language, call love "a folly,"-- love, better understood, is wisdom.

Besides, the world was too much with Clarence Glyndon.

His ambition of art was associated with the applause and estimation of that miserable minority of the surface that we call the Public.
Like those who deceive, he was ever fearful of being himself the dupe.
He distrusted the sweet innocence of Viola.

He could not venture the hazard of seriously proposing marriage to an Italian actress; but the modest dignity of the girl, and something good and generous in his own nature, had hitherto made him shrink from any more worldly but less honourable designs.