But some of the busy thought filling that long day, which passed without his receiving any new summons from his mother, was given to the argument that Hans Meyrick's nature was not one in which love could strike the deep roots that turn disappointment into sorrow: it was too restless, too readily excitable by novelty, too ready to turn itself into imaginative material, and wear its grief as a fantastic costume. 
But he thought that Hans Meyrick's nature was not one in which love or disappointment could strike deep roots: it was too restless, too excited by novelty, too theatrical.
