How many of us can say of our most intimate alter ego, leaving alone friends of the outer circle, that he is the man we should have chosen, as embodying the net result after adding up all the points in human nature that we love, and principles we hold, and subtracting all that we hate?
The man is really somebody we got to know by mere physical juxtaposition long maintained, and was taken into our confidence, and even heart, as a makeshift.
'And what do you think of her ?' Stephen ventured to say, after a silence.
'Taking her merits on trust from you,' said Knight, 'as we do those of the Roman poets of whom we know nothing but that they lived, I still think she will not stick to you through, say, three years of absence in India.' 'But she will!' cried Stephen desperately.

'She is a girl all delicacy and honour.

And no woman of that kind, who has committed herself so into a man's hands as she has into mine, could possibly marry another.' 'How has she committed herself ?' asked Knight cunously.
Stephen did not answer.

Knight had looked on his love so sceptically that it would not do to say all that he had intended to say by any means.
'Well, don't tell,' said Knight.

'But you are begging the question, which is, I suppose, inevitable in love.' 'And I'll tell you another thing,' the younger man pleaded.