The result of this process of self-examination in her looking-glass, which was not limited to a single occasion, established more firmly than ever in Selma’s opinion the malignant falsity of the imputation, and yet she was still haunted by it.  She was tortured by the secret thought that, though her ambition had been to become just like those other women, she was still distinguishable from them; and moreover, that she was baffled in her attempt to analyze the distinction.  Distinguishable even from Flossy—­from Flossy, who had slighted and then reviled her!  Why had she ever faltered in her distrust of these enemies of true American society?  Yet this lingering sense of torture served to whet her new-found purpose to have done with them forever, and to obtain the recognition and power to which she was entitled, in spite of their impertinence and neglect.

The announcement was made to her by Wilbur at about this time that his plans for Wetmore College had been accepted, and that he was to be the architect of the new buildings.  As he told her his face showed a tremulous animation which it had not worn for many weeks, and he regarded her for a moment with shy eagerness, as though he half hoped that this vindication of his purposes by success might prompt her to tender some sort of apology, and thus afford him the chance to persuade himself that he had been mistaken after all in his judgment of her.

“You must be very much pleased,” she said.  “And so am I, of course.”  Then, after a moment of reflective abstraction, she asked with sudden eagerness, “How long will it take to build them?”

“Two or three years, I suppose.”

“And you would be obliged to go frequently to Benham?”

“In order to oversee the work I should have to make short trips there from time to time.”

“Yes.  Wilbur,” she exclaimed, with her exalted expression, “why shouldn’t we go to Benham to live?  I have been thinking a great deal lately about what we said to each other that time when you felt so badly, and I have come to the conclusion that our living in New York is what is really the trouble.  I have the feeling, Wilbur, that in some other place than this cruel, conventional city we should be happier than we are now—­indeed, very happy.  Has it ever occurred to you?  You see, New York doesn’t understand me; it doesn’t understand you, Wilbur.  It sneers at our aspirations.  Benham is a growing, earnest city—­a city throbbing with the best American spirit and energy.  I suggest Benham because we both know it so well.  The college buildings would give you a grand start, and I—­we both would be in our proper sphere.”

Littleton had started at the suggestion.  As a drowning man will grasp at a straw, his grieving soul for an instant entertained the plan as a panacea for their woes.  But his brow grew grave and sad under the influence of reflection as she proceeded to set forth her reasons in her wrapt fashion.  If he had not learned to remain cold under the witchery of her intense moods, he no longer hesitated to probe her fervid assertions with his self-respecting common-sense.