If his wretched jealousy had ruined her, the secret high tribunal within her bosom, which judged her guiltless for putting the sword between their marriage tie when they stood as one, because a quarrelling couple could not in honour play the embracing, pronounced him just pardonable.

She distinguished that he could only suppose, manlikely, one bad cause for the division.
To this extent she used her unerring brains, more openly than on her night of debate at The Crossways.

The next moment she was off in vapour, meditating grandly on her independence of her sex and the passions.
Love! she did not know it, she was not acquainted with either the criminal or the domestic God, and persuaded herself that she never could be.

She was a Diana of coldness, preferring friendship; she could be the friend of men.

There was another who could be the friend of women.