Her chief thought in the many events of the day had been only to escape her dangers and difficulties for the moment; all the time she had known that her real thinking, her real decisions, were for a later time when she was not so driven by the press of unexpected circumstances.

That less stressful time was now beginning.
What was she to do next?
What were to be her final decisions?
And what, in all this strange ferment, was likely to germinate as possible forces against her?
She mulled these things over for several days, during which Dick came to see her twice, and twice proposed, and was twice put off.

She had quiet now, and was most of the time alone, but that clarity which she had expected, that quickness and surety of purpose which she had always believed to be unfailingly hers, refused to come.
She tried to have it otherwise, but the outstanding figure in her meditations was Larry.

Larry, who had not exposed her at the Sherwoods', and whose influence had caused Hunt also not to expose her--Larry, who without deception was on a familiar footing at the Sherwoods' where she had been received only through trickery--Larry, a fugitive in danger from so many enemies, perhaps after all undeserved enemies--Larry, who looked to be making good on his boast to achieve success through honesty--Larry, who had again told her that he loved her.

She liked Dick Sherwood--she really did.