Somehow it warmed her heart; and yet would she ever be able to give up the life which in many ways suited her so well?
If she married Mark--dear, kind, generous-hearted Mark--various friendships which, even if they did not mean so much to her as they appeared to do, yet meant a good deal in her present lonely life, would certainly have to be given up.

To take but one instance.

It had almost been an instinct with her to keep Lionel Varick and Mark Gifford apart.
In the old days she had been disagreeably aware of how absolutely Gifford had always disapproved of Varick, and of Varick's various ways of trying, often successfully, to raise the wind.

Of course, everything was now different with regard to this particular friend.

Varick had become--by what anyone not a hypocrite must admit had been a fortunate circumstance--a respectable member of society; but, even so, she knew, deep in her heart, that he and the man whose letter she held in her hand would never like one another.
And yet she was tired--so tired!--of the sort of life she led, year in and year out.