Love had eyes, love had a voice that night,-love was the explicable magic lifting terrestrial to seraphic.

Though, true, she had not Henrietta's golden smoothness of beauty.

Henrietta, illumined with such a love, would outdo all legends, all dreams of the tale of love.

Would she?
For credulous men she would be golden coin of the currency.

She would not have a particular wild flavour: charm as of the running doe that has taken a dart and rolls an eye to burst the hunter's heart with pity.
Fleetwood went his way to Lady Arpington almost complacently, having fought and laid his wilder self.