The gentle sighs which distilled from their plume-like boughs seemed utterances of the softest wisdom.
Not far beyond their trunks it was all dark velvet, into which separate shapes, adventuring, were lost, as wild birds vanishing in space, or the souls of men received into their Mother's heart.
Hilary walked, hearing no sighs of wisdom, noting no smooth darkness, wrapped in thought.

The mere fact of having given pleasure was enough to produce a warm sensation in a man so naturally kind.

But, as with all self-conscious, self-distrustful, natures, that sensation had not lasted.

He was left with a feeling of emptiness and disillusionment, as of having given himself a good mark without reason.
While walking, he was a target for the eyes of many women, who passed him rapidly, like ships in sail.

The special fastidious shyness of his face attracted those accustomed to another kind of face.