solution of the rhymester:

"Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Evils from circumstances grow."

Because she felt she was getting no nearer the solution of her own
problem, and was, if anything, wandering from the point.

Another way of looking at the matter was beginning to take form: had
hung about her mind and forsaken it more than once. Might it not be
better, after all, to dash at the position and capture it while her
forces were well under control? To pursue the metaphor, the
commissariat might not hold out. Better endure the ills we have--of
course, Rosalind knew all that--than fly to others that we know not
of. But suppose we have a chance of flying to others we can measure
the length and breadth of, and staving off thereby an uncalculable
unknown? She felt she almost knew the worst that could come of taking
Gerry into her confidence, telling him boldly all about himself,
provided she could choose her opportunity and make sure Sally was well
out of the way. The concealment from Sally was the achievement whose
failure involved the greatest risk. Her husband's mind would bear the
knowledge of his story well or ill according to the way in which it
reached him; but the necessity of keeping her girl in ignorance of it
was a thing absolute. Any idea that Sally's origin could be concealed
from her, and her stepfather's identity made known, Rosalind dismissed
as simply fantastic.

A lady who had established herself below high-water mark with many
more books than she could read, and plant capable of turning out much
more work than she could do, at this point fled for safety from a rush
of white foam. It went back for more, meaning to wet her through next
time; but had to bear its disappointment. Mrs. Arkwright--for it was
Gwendolen's mamma--being driven from the shadow of the breakwater,
cast about her for a new lodgment, and perceived one beside Mrs.
Fenwick, whom she thought very well for the seaside, but not to leave
cards on. _Might_ she come up there, beside you? Rosalind didn't want
her, but had to pretend she did, to encourage her advent. It left
behind it a track of skeins and volumes, which had trickled from the
fugitive, but were recovered by a domestic, and pronounced dry.
Besides, they were only library books, and didn't matter.

"I haven't seen you since the other day on the pier, Mrs. Fenwick,
or I wanted to have asked you more about that charming young couple,
the Julian Attwoods. Oh dear!