It seemed to her that these catastrophes were fictitious; life went on and on--life was different altogether from what people said.

And not only was she at an end of her stock of caution, but it seemed suddenly altogether superfluous.

Surely if any one could take care of himself, Ralph Denham could; he had told her that he did not love her.

And, further, she meditated, walking on beneath the beech-trees and swinging her umbrella, as in her thought she was accustomed to complete freedom, why should she perpetually apply so different a standard to her behavior in practice?
Why, she reflected, should there be this perpetual disparity between the thought and the action, between the life of solitude and the life of society, this astonishing precipice on one side of which the soul was active and in broad daylight, on the other side of which it was contemplative and dark as night?
Was it not possible to step from one to the other, erect, and without essential change?
Was this not the chance he offered her--the rare and wonderful chance of friendship?
At any rate, she told Denham, with a sigh in which he heard both impatience and relief, that she agreed; she thought him right; she would accept his terms of friendship.
"Now," she said, "let's go and have tea." In fact, these principles having been laid down, a great lightness of spirit showed itself in both of them.

They were both convinced that something of profound importance had been settled, and could now give their attention to their tea and the Gardens.