turned round and smiled, not a happy, joyful smile as before, but
in a frightened, piteous way. The smile seemed to tell him that
what he was doing was wrong. He stopped for a moment. There was
still the possibility of a struggle. The voice of his real love
for her, though feebly, was still speaking of her, her feelings,
her life. Another voice was saying, "Take care I don't let the
opportunity for your own happiness, your own enjoyment, slip by!"
And this second voice completely stifled the first. He went up to