I believe it goes on forever." And glancing at the glass, she added truthfully: "I want love more to-day than I wanted it when I was twenty--and so does Ben O'Hara." A sensation of stifling, as if her throat were closing together, oppressed her suddenly, and picking up her hand-bag, she ran downstairs and out of the house.
By the time she reached Broadway her anger had ebbed, but the oppression, the feeling that she was being slowly smothered, was still in her throat and bosom.

After all, seen in the sober light of reason, why had she been so indignant?
There had been a misapprehension; he had thought that she was in love with him, and thinking so, he had kissed her.

That was the case plainly stated; and what was there in this to send a burning, rush of anger to her heart?
What was there in this that had made her turn and insult him?
For the first time in her life she had lost her temper without cause, and had raged, she told herself sternly, like a fury.

And beneath her rage she had been conscious always of some vague, incomprehensible disloyalty to Arthur--of a feeling of, humiliation, of self-reproach, which appeared ridiculous when she remembered that she had been kissed against her will and without warning.

But, in spite of this, she knew intuitively, with a knowledge deeper than reason, that the glory of her Dream had paled in the moment when she lay in O'Hara's arms.
A subtle change had come over the spirit of spring since she had left the elm tree and the emerald veil of the grass.