My arms stretch themselves out.

Thank God! thank God! whatever happens afterward, I shall still thank God, and call him good for allowing it.

I am in Roger's embrace.

No more mistakes! no more delays! he is here, and I am kissing him as I never kissed any one--as I certainly never kissed _him_ in my life before.
Well, I suppose that in every life there are _some_ moments that are _absolutely_ good--that one could not mend even if one were given the power to try! I suppose that even those who, looking back over their history, say, most distinctly and certainly, "It was a failure," can yet lay the finger of memory on _some_ such gold minutes--it may be only half a dozen, only four, only _two_--but still on some.
This is one of my gold moments, one of those misplaced ones that have strayed out of heaven, where, perhaps, they are _all_ such--_perhaps_--one can't be _sure_, for what human imagination can grasp the idea of even a _day_, wholly made of such minutes?
I have forgotten Mrs.Huntley--Mr.Musgrave.

Every ill suspicion, every stinging remembrance, is dead or fallen into a trance.