"Like a woman" would not have flattered her.

Like what did she strive to be?
The picture of another self was before her--a creature calmly strong, unruffled, and a refuge to her beloved.

It was a steady light through every wind that blew, save when the heart narrowed; and then it waxed feeble, and the life in her was hungry for she knew not what.
Georgiana's struggle was to make her great passion eat up all the others.

Sure of the intensity and thoroughness of her love for Merthyr, she would forecast for herself tasks in his service impossible save to one sensually dead and therefore spiritually sexless.

"My love is pure," she would say; as if that were the talisman which rendered it superhuman.