Mr.Saul was plain, uncouth, with little that was bright about him except the brightness of his piety.

Harry was like the morning star.
He looked and walked and spoke as though he were something more godlike than common men.

His very voice created joy, and the ring of his laughter was to Florence as the music of the heavens.

What woman would not have loved Harry Clavering?
Even Julia Brabazon--a creature so base that she had sold herself to such a thing as Lord Ongar for money and a title, but so grand in her gait and ways, so Florence had been told, that she seemed to despise the earth on which she trod--even she had loved him.

Then as Florence thought of what Julia Brabazon might have had and of what she had lost, she wondered that there could be women born so sadly vicious.
But that woman's vice had given her her success, her joy, her great triumph! It was surely not for her to deal hardly with the faults of Julia Brabazon--for her who was enjoying all the blessings of which those faults had robbed the other! Julia Brabazon had been her very good friend.
But why had this perfect lover come to her, to one so small, so trifling, so little in the world's account as she, and given to her all the treasure of his love?
Oh, Harry--dear Harry! what could she do for him that would be a return good enough for such great goodness?
Then she took out his last letter, that satisfactory letter, that letter that had been declared to be perfect, and read it and read it again.