Emma thought so with good reason.
She stood on land, it was true, but she stood on a cliff of the land, the seas below and about her; and she was enabled to hoodwink her friend because the assured sensation of her firm footing deceived her own soul, even while it took short flights to the troubled waters.

Of her firm footing she was exultingly proud.

She stood high, close to danger, without giddiness.

If at intervals her soul flew out like lightning from the rift (a mere shot of involuntary fancy, it seemed to her), the suspicion of instability made her draw on her treasury of impressions of the mornings at Lugano--her loftiest, purest, dearest; and these reinforced her.

She did not ask herself why she should have to seek them for aid.