I could so envelop you with love, so watch over you and care for you, and tend you and understand you, that you MUST be happy.

I feel that I could make you happier than any other woman in the world could make you." Jocelyn Gordon could not do this; and all the advanced females in the world, all the blue stockings and divided skirts, all the wild women and those who pant for burdens other than children, will never bring it to pass that women can say such things.
And precisely because she could not say this, Jocelyn felt hot and sick at the very thought that Jack Meredith should learn aught of Millicent Chyne from her.

Her own inner motive in divulging what she had learnt from Guy Oscard could never for a moment be hidden behind a wish, however sincere, to act for the happiness of two honourable gentlemen.
Jocelyn had no one to consult--no one to whom she could turn, in the maddening difficulty of her position, for advice or sympathy.

She had to work it out by herself, steering through the quicksands by that compass that knows no deviation--the compass of her own honour and maidenly reserve.
Just because she was so sure of her own love she felt that she could never betray the falseness of Millicent Chyne.

She felt somehow that Millicent's fall in Jack Meredith's estimation would drag down with it the whole of her sex, and consequently herself.