That farewell took place on the Friday morning.  Tregear as he walked out of the Square knew now that he had been the cause of a great shipwreck.  At first when that passionate love had been declared,—­he could hardly remember whether with the fullest passion by him or by her,—­he had been as a god walking upon air.  That she who seemed to be so much above him should have owned that she was all his own seemed then to be world enough for him.  For a few weeks he lived a hero to himself, and was able to tell himself that for him, the glory of a passion was sufficient.  In those halcyon moments no common human care is allowed to intrude itself.  To one who has thus entered in upon the heroism of romance his own daily work, his dinners, clothes, income, father and mother, sisters and brothers, his own street and house are nothing.  Hunting, shooting, rowing, Alpine-climbing, even speeches in Parliament,—­if they perchance have been attained to,—­all become leather or prunella.  The heavens have been opened to him and he walks among them like a god.  So it had been with Tregear.  Then had come the second phase of his passion,—­which is not uncommon young men who soar high in their first assaults.  He was told that it would not do; and was not so told by the hard-pressed parent, but by the young lady herself.  And she had spoken so reasonably, that he had yielded, and had walked away with the sudden feeling of a vile return to his own mean belongings, to his lodgings, and his income, which not a few ambitious young men have experienced.  But she had convinced him.  Then had come the journey to Italy, and the reader knows all the rest.  He certainly had not derogated in transferring his affections,—­but it may be doubted whether in his second love he had walked among the stars as in the first.  A man can hardly mount twice among the stars.  But he had been as eager,—­ and as true.  And he had succeeded, without any flaw on his conscience.  It had been agreed, when that first disruption took place, that he and Mabel should be friends; and, as to friends, he had told her of his hopes.  When first she had mingled something of sarcasm in her congratulations, though it had annoyed him, it had hardly made him unhappy.  When she called him Romeo and spoke of herself as Rosaline, he took her remark as indicating some petulance rather than an enduring love.  That had been womanly and he could forgive it.  He had his other great and solid happiness to support him.  Then he had believed that she would soon marry, if not Silverbridge, then some other fitting young nobleman, and that all would be well.  But now things were very far from well.  The storm which was now howling round her afflicted her much.