"I will always love you, Geraldine."
"I am sure you will," she answered fondly, smoothing my cheek; "and your name is Arthur. May I call you Arthur?"
"Of course you may."
"Arthur," she said, looking earnestly into my eyes, "what makes you want me to be your wife?"
"My love."
"And what makes you love me?"
"Your sweetness—your waywardness—and all the little points and lights, the colour and shadow, which make up your character and your beauty."
"But would you like my character if I were not pretty?"
"Certainly I should."
"You would think me rude. My face is like charity to my character—it hides my multitude of sins."