My father liked him for his wit, his learning, though he was young; for his strength and manliness--for a hundred reasons which were nothing to me.

I would have loved him had he been a cripple, poor, ignorant, despised, instead of being what he was--the grandest, noblest man God ever made.

For I did not love him for his face, nor for his courtly ways, nor for such gifts as other men might have, but for himself and for his heart--do you understand ?" "For his goodness," said Sister Paul, nodding in approval.

"I understand." "No," Beatrice answered, half impatiently.

"Not for his goodness either.
Many men are good, and so was he--he must have been, of course.