Only a Welsh girl would be so quick and all in it, with a voice intimating a heated cauldron under her mouth.

None but a Welsh-blooded girl, risking her good name to follow and nurse the man she considered a hero, would carry her head to look virgin eyes as she did.

One could swear to them, Gower thought.

Contact with her spirited him out of his mooniness.
He had the Cymric and Celtic respect of character; which puts aside the person's environments to face the soul.

He was also an impressionable fellow among his fellows, a philosopher only at his leisure, in his courted solitudes.