“To women who please me only by their faces, I am the very devil when I find out they have neither souls nor hearts⁠—when they open to me a perspective of flatness, triviality, and perhaps imbecility, coarseness, and ill-temper: but to the clear eye and eloquent tongue, to the soul made of fire, and the character that bends but does not break⁠—at once supple and stable, tractable and consistent⁠—I am ever tender and true.”

“Had you ever experience of such a character, sir? Did you ever love such an one?”

“I love it now.”

“But before me: if I, indeed, in any respect come up to your difficult standard?”