Ruth upon the lips of Rose: that voice of living constancy made music to him everywhere.

'Thy God shall be my God.' He had heard it all through the night.

He had not yet broken the tender charm sufficiently to think that he must tell her the sacrifice she would have to make.

When partly he did, the first excuse he clutched at was, that he had not even kissed her on the forehead.

Surely he had been splendidly chivalrous?
Just as surely he would have brought on himself the scorn of the chivalrous or of the commonly balanced if he had been otherwise.