She had not given her last shilling,
sentimentally speaking, either to Caspar Goodwood or to Lord
Warburton, and yet couldn't but feel them appreciably in debt to
her. She had of course reminded herself that she was to hear from
Mr. Goodwood again; but this was not to be for another year and a
half, and in that time a great many things might happen. She had
indeed failed to say to herself that her American suitor might find
some other girl more comfortable to woo; because, though it was
certain many other girls would prove so, she had not the smallest
belief that this merit would attract him. But she reflected that she
herself might know the humiliation of change, might really, for that
matter, come to the end of the things that were not Caspar (even
though there appeared so many of them), and find rest in those very
elements of his presence which struck her now as impediments to the
finer respiration. It was conceivable that these impediments should
some day prove a sort of blessing in disguise- a clear and quiet
harbour enclosed by a brave granite breakwater. But that day could
only come in its order, and she couldn't wait for it with folded
hands.
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