“The only thing that damped my pleasure was a cloud of something between sorrow and delight that crossed my mind with the frequently returning thought of my last night's hostess. «But then,» thought I, «if she is sorry, I could not help it; and she has all the pleasures she ever had. Such a day as this is surely a joy to her, as much at least as to me. And her life will perhaps be the richer, for holding now within it the memory of what came, but could not stay.
And if ever she is a woman, who knows but we may meet somewhere? there is plenty of room for meeting in the universe.» Comforting myself thus, yet with a vague compunction, as if I ought not to have left her, I went on.”