Ronald's wound was not deep, but he
had a firm conviction that it ought to be.
Any man would have thought the same in his place. Certainly, few people
would have understood what they felt in such a position. He had grown up
believing he was to marry a young and charming woman of whom he was really
exceedingly fond, and now he was suddenly told that the whole thing was a
mistake. It was enough to break a man's heart, and yet Ronald's heart was
not broken, and to his great surprise beat nearly as regularly the day
after his disaster as it had done during the whole two-and-twenty years of
his life. He could not understand his own calmness, and he was sure that
he ought to be profoundly grieved over the whole affair, so that his face
was drawn into an expression of solemnity somewhat out of keeping with its
singular youthful freshness of color and outline.
The idea of devoting himself to the infernal gods as a sacrifice to the
blighted passion had passed away in the course of the drive on the
previous afternoon.
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