Love throws its own glamour,' he went on, and his voice was unusually grave; 'it does not believe in commonplace mediocrity; it lifts up its idol to some fanciful pedestal, where the poor thing feels very uncomfortable and out of its element, and then persists in falling down and worshipping it.

We humans are very droll, Ursula: we will create our own divinities.' 'Lesbia would have disappointed him,' I persisted obstinately; but I might as well have talked to the wind.

Uncle Max could not find it in his heart to be hard to a pretty girl.
'That is open to doubt, my dear.

Lesbia is amiable and charming, and I daresay she would have made a nice little wife.

Poor Charlie hated clever women, and in that respect she would have suited him.' After this I knew it was no good in trying to change his opinion.