Only an hour before she had been miserable, and now her whole spirit had leaped above her woe as with the impetus of some celestial fluid rarer than all the miseries of earth and of a necessity surmounting them.

She looked out at the night, and it was to her as if that and the whole world was her jewel-casket, and the jewels therein were immortal, and infinite in possibilities of giving and receiving glory and joy.

Rose thought of Horace, and a delicious thrill went over her whole body.

Then she thought of Lucy Ayres, and felt both pity and a sort of angry and contemptuous repulsion.

"How a girl can do so!" she thought.
Intuitively she knew that what she felt for Horace was a far nobler love than Lucy's.