Where the girl's dreams had proved illusions, she beheld in a title and luxuries, in a loveless marriage.
That was perilous ground.

Still it taught her to see that the substantial is the dust; and passion not being active, she could reflect.

After a series of penetrative flashes, flattering to her intelligence the more startling they were, reflection was exhausted.
She sank on her nature's desire to join or witness agonistic incidents, shocks, wrestlings, the adventures which are brilliant air to sanguine energies.

Imagination shot tap, and whirled the circle of a succession of them; and she had a companion and leader, unfeatured, reverently obeyed, accepted as not to be known, not to be guessed at, in the deepest hooded inmost of her being speechlessly divined.
The sudden result of Aminta's turmoil was a determination that she must look on Steignton.

And what was to be gained by that?
She had no idea.
And how had she stopped her imaginative flight with the thought of looking on Steignton?
All she could tell was, that it would close a volume.