She liked her comforts, her luxuries, many pretty things about her, and days without friction.

To travel?
Yes, with all modern comforts, no long stages, a really good maid, and some fresh interesting books.
What kind of books?
Well, Walter Pater's essays; "The Light of Asia"; a novel of that wicked man Thomas Hardy; and something light--"The Innocents Abroad"-- with, possibly, a struggle through De Musset, to keep up her French.
It did not seem exciting to Gaston, but it did sound honest, and it was in the picture.

He much preferred Meredith, and Swinburne, and Dumas, and Hugo; but with her he did also like the whimsical Mark Twain.
He thought of suggestions that Lady Belward had often thrown out; of those many talks with Sir William, excellent friends as they were, in which the baronet hinted at the security he would feel if there was a second family of Belwards.

What if he--?
He smiled strangely, and shrank.
Marriage?
There was the touchstone.
After the dance, when he was taking her to her mother, he saw a pale intense face looking out to him from a row of others.

He smiled, and the smile that came in return was unlike any he had ever seen Alice Wingfield wear.