"But love is no unreal, unworthy thing, either; no sham, no trite cut-and-dried convention, made silly by sighs and vapours.
"Oh, Euan, it is! I am so much more to you in my soul than if I merely loved you.

You are so much more to me--the very well-spring of my desire and pride--my reason for pleasing, my happy consolation and my gratitude....

Seat yourself here on the pleasant, scented grasses and let me endeavour to explain it once and for all time.

Will you?
"It is this," she continued, taking my hand between hers, when we were seated, and examining it very intently, as though the screed she recited were written there on my palm.

"We are so marvelously matched in every measurement and feature, mental and bodily almost--and I am so truly becoming a vital part of you and you of me, that the miracle is too perfect, too lofty, too serenely complete to vex it with the lesser magic--the passions and the various petty vexations they entail.
"For I would become--to honour you--all that your pride would have me.
I would please the world for your sake, conquer it both with mind and person.