t her charges against the vanquished. If his wretched jealousy had
ruined her, the secret high tribunal within her bosom, which judged her
guiltless for putting the sword between their marriage tie when they
stood as one, because a quarrelling couple could not in honour play the
embracing, pronounced him just pardonable. She distinguished that he
could only suppose, manlikely, one bad cause for the division.

To this extent she used her unerring brains, more openly than on her
night of debate at The Crossways. The next moment she was off in vapour,
meditating grandly on her independence of her sex and the passions.
Love! she did not know it, she was not acquainted with either the
criminal or the domestic God, and persuaded herself that she never could
be. She was a Diana of coldness, preferring friendship; she could be the
friend of men. There was another who could be the friend of women. Her
heart leapt to Redworth. Conjuring up his clear trusty face, at their
grasp of hands when parting, she thought of her visions of her future
about the period of the Dublin Ball, and acknowledged, despite the
erratic step to wedlock, a gain in having met and proved so true a
friend. His face, figure, character, lightest look, lightest word, all
were loyal signs of a man of honour, cold as she; he was the man to
whom she could have opened her heart for inspection. Rejoicing in her
independence of an emotional sex, the impulsive woman burned with
a regret that at their parting she had not broken down conventional
barriers and given her cheek to his lips in the anti-insular fashion
with a brotherly friend. And why not when both were cold? Spirit to
spirit, she did, delightfully refreshed by her capacity to do so without
a throb. He had held her hands and looked into her eyes half a minute,
like a dear comrade; as little arousing her instincts of defensiveness
as the clearing heavens; and sisterly love for it was his due, a
sister's kiss. He needed a sister, and should have one in her. Emma's
recollected talk of 'Tom Redworth' painted him from head to foot,
brought the living man over the waters to the deck of the yacht. A stout
champion in the person of Tom Redworth was left on British land; but
for some reason past analysis, intermixed, that is, among a swarm of
sensations, Diana named her champion to herself with the formal
prefix: perhaps because she knew a man's Christian name to be dangerous
handling. They differed besides frequentl