Thought must always be in some measure of accord with the moment and the mood. You could not say, for instance: "Good morning. What a beautiful day. I am going to be married."
But he had thought the same thought subsequently.
True.
Why had he not acted on it?
Partly for the same reason. And then again ... it seemed so easy in thought and so difficult in effect. He was frightened he might bungle it, and make it sound like an unpalatable caution to the girl. "Don't set your aspirations upon me. I warn you. I am not for you." Faugh! The idea—in this girl's case—was revolting.
Because, therefore, of a little unpleasantness on account, he had run up a long score—prepared to declare himself bankrupt when occasion arose, and involve the girl in his own insolvency. Was that it?
He had certainly avoided anything that might be odious to the girl ... or painful to her feelings—but he had had no ideas of involving her. God forbid!
And the other? The Absent One? What had been his feelings towards her? Had he thought his conduct such as to merit her confidence in him?
He had not thought it undeserving of her confidence. Their relations were of long standing. Before now he had kissed some mutual girl friends in her presence. She had smiled.
Supposing he had kissed them in her absence ... and she had come subsequently to hear of it? Would she have smiled? Of course he had told her in his letters all about the post-girl—and their present relations?