So would she.

Anyhow, she was as good as this provincial, with his ancient silver watch, his plump little hands, and his book of philosophy.
What did it matter, so all came right in the end! She would justify herself, if she had the chance.

She was sick of conspiracy, and danger, and chicanery--and blood.

She wanted her chance.

She had been badly shaken in the last days in Spain, and she shrank from more worry and misery.