Would it be possible, even after marriage, to speak of such a subject with Wilfrid?
She had constantly tried to assure herself that, even if he had kept the pledges through all these years, a sense of honour would lead Wilfrid to destroy them when he gave and received a new love.

In moments when it was her conscious effort to rise to noble heights, to be as pure a woman as that other--for Beatrice never sought the base comfort of refusing to her rival that just homage--she 'would half persuade herself that no doubt lingered in her mind; it was right to destroy the letters, and whatever was right Wilfrid must have done.

But she could not live at all hours in that thin air; the defects of her blood were too enduring.
Jealousy came back from its brief exile, and was more insinuating than ever, its suggestions more maddening.

By a sort of reaction, these thoughts assailed her strongly in the moments which followed her outburst of passion and Wilfrid's response.

Yet she could not--durst not--frame words to tell him of her suffering.