"It is not true! What does it matter whether _he_ believes it or not?" This is what she repeated to herself--but this was not her faith come back again; it was only the desperate cry of faith, finding suffocation intolerable. And how could she go on through the day in this state? With one of her impetuous alternations, her imagination flew to wild actions by which she would convince herself of what she wished: she would go to Lady Mallinger and question her about Mirah; she would write to Deronda and upbraid him with making the world all false and wicked and hopeless to her--to him she dared pour out all the bitter indignation of her heart. No; she would go to Mirah. This last form taken by her need was more definitely practicable, and quickly became imperious. No matter what came of it. She had the pretext of asking Mirah to sing at her party on the fourth. What was she going to say beside? 
"It is not true! What does it matter whether Grandcourt believes it?" This is what she repeated to herself, in a desperate cry of faith. How could she go on through the day in this state? Her impetuous imagination flew to wild actions by which she would convince herself of what she wished: she would question Lady Mallinger; she would write to Deronda and upbraid him with making the world wicked and hopeless to her.
No; she would go to Mirah. This path was more definitely practicable, and quickly became imperious. She had the pretext of asking Mirah to sing at her party on the fourth. What was she going to say beside? 