'But that is not all: she has a soul worthy to match with mine.
She has a genius beyond that of woman--keen--dazzling--bold.

Poetry flows spontaneous to her lips: utter but a truth, and, however intricate and profound, her mind seizes and commands it.

Her imagination and her reason are not at war with each other; they harmonize and direct her course as the winds and the waves direct some lofty bark.

With this she unites a daring independence of thought; she can stand alone in the world; she can be brave as she is gentle; this is the nature I have sought all my life in woman, and never found till now.

Ione must be mine! In her I have a double passion; I wish to enjoy a beauty of spirit as of form.' 'She is not yours yet, then ?' said the priest.
'No; she loves me--but as a friend--she loves me with her mind only.
She fancies in me the paltry virtues which I have only the profounder virtue to disdain.