Honora, after her friend had gone, sat down in one of the wicker chairs on the porch.  She had a very vague idea as to how much twenty thousand dollars was, but she reflected that while they had lived in Rivington Howard must have made many similar sums, of which she was unaware.  Gradually she began to realize, however, that her resentment of the lack of confidence of her husband was by no means the only cause of the feeling that took possession of and overwhelmed her.  Something like it she had experienced before:  to-day her thoughts seemed to run through her in pulsations, like waves of heat, and she wondered that she could have controlled herself while listening to Lily Dallam.

Mrs. Dallam’s reproaches presented themselves to Honora in new aspects.  She began to feel now, with an intensity that frightened her, distaste and rebellion.  It was intolerable that she should be called to account for the people she chose to have in her house, that any sort of pressure should be brought to bear on her to confine her friends to Quicksands.  Treason, heresy, disloyalty to the cult of that community—­in reality these, and not a breach of engagement, were the things of which she had been accused.  She saw now.  She would not be tied to Quicksands—­she would not, she would not, she would not!  She owed it no allegiance.  Her very soul rebelled at the thought, and cried out that she was made for something better, something higher than the life she had been leading.  She would permit no one forcibly to restrict her horizon.

Just where and how this higher and better life was to be found Honora did not know; but the belief of her childhood—­that it existed somewhere—­was still intact.  Her powers of analysis, we see, are only just budding, and she did not and could not define the ideal existence which she so unflaggingly sought.  Of two of its attributes only she was sure—­that it was to be free from restraint and from odious comparisons.  Honora’s development, it may be remarked, proceeds by the action of irritants, and of late her protest against Quicksands and what it represented had driven her to other books besides the treatise on bridge.  The library she had collected at Rivington she had brought with her, and was adding to it from time to time.  Its volumes are neither sufficiently extensive or profound to enumerate.

Those who are more or less skilled in psychology may attempt to establish a sequence between the events and reflections just related and the fact that, one morning a fortnight later, Honora found herself driving northward on Fifth Avenue in a hansom cab.  She was in a pleasurable state of adventurous excitement, comparable to that Columbus must have felt when the shores of the Old World had disappeared below the horizon.  During the fortnight we have skipped Honora had been to town several times, and had driven and walked through certain streets:  inspiration, courage, and decision had all arrived at once this morning, when at the ferry she had given the cabman this particular address on Fifth Avenue.