and he could not go on loving her

Again and again he fancied he had established a truce with thepast: had come to terms--the terms of defeat and failure withthat bright enemy called happiness. And, in truth, he hadreached the point of definitely knowing that he could neverreturn to the kind of life that he and Susy had embarked on. Ithad been the tragedy, of their relation that loving her rousedin him ideals she could never satisfy. He had fallen in lovewith her because she was, like himself, amused, unprejudiced anddisenchanted; and he could not go on loving her unless sheceased to be all these things. From that circle there was noissue, and in it he desperately revolved. 　　If he had not heard such persistent rumours of her re-marriageto Lord Altringham he might have tried to see her again; but,aware of the danger and the hopelessness of a meeting, he was,on the whole, glad to have a reason for avoiding it. Such, atleast, he honestly supposed to be his state of mind until hefound himself, as on this occasion, free to follow out histhought to its end. That end, invariably, was Susy; not thebundle of qualities and defects into which his critical spirithad tried to sort her out, but the soft blur of identity, ofpersonality, of eyes, hair, mouth, laugh, tricks of speech andgesture, that were all so solely and profoundly her own, and yetso mysteriously independent of what she might do, say, think, incrucial circumstances. He remembered her once saying to him: 　　"After all, you were right when you wanted me to be yourmistress," and the indignant stare of incredulity with which hehad answered her. Yet in these hours it was the palpable imageof her that clung closest, till, as invariably happened, hisvision came full circle, and feeling her on his breast he wantedher also in his soul. 　　Well--such all-encompassing loves were the rarest of humanexperiences; he smiled at his presumption in wanting no other. 　　Wearily he turned, and tramped homeward through the wintertwilight .... 　　At the door of the hotel he ran across the Prince of Teutoburg'saide-de-camp. They had not met for some days, and Nick had avague feeling that if the Prince's matrimonial designs tookdefinite shape he himself was not likely, after all, to be theirchosen exponent. He had surprised, now and then, a certaindistrustful coldness under the Princess Mother's cordial glance,and had concluded that she perhaps suspected him of being anobstacle to her son's aspirations. He had no idea of playingthat part, but was not sorry to appear to; for he was sincerelyattached to Coral Hicks, and hoped for her a more human fatethan that of becoming Prince Anastasius's consort. 　　This evening, however, he was struck by the beaming alacrity ofthe aide-de-camp's greeting. Whatever cloud had hung betweenthem had lifted: the Teutoburg clan, for one reason or another,no longer feared or distrusted him.