He considered love the finest thing in the world.

It was love that had worked the revolution in him, changing him from an uncouth sailor to a student and an artist; therefore, to him, the finest and greatest of the three, greater than learning and artistry, was love.

Already he had discovered that his brain went beyond Ruth's, just as it went beyond the brains of her brothers, or the brain of her father.

In spite of every advantage of university training, and in the face of her bachelorship of arts, his power of intellect overshadowed hers, and his year or so of self-study and equipment gave him a mastery of the affairs of the world and art and life that she could never hope to possess.
All this he realized, but it did not affect his love for her, nor her love for him.

Love was too fine and noble, and he was too loyal a lover for him to besmirch love with criticism.