Milo was right; he was Tristram, not Galahad nor Lancelot; a man of cold appetite, a man whose head was master, touched rarely, and then stirred only to certain deeps.

So far as he could love woman born he loved Jehane, saw her exceedingly lovely, loved her proud remote spirit, her nobility, her sobriety.

He saw her bodily perfections too, how splendid a person, how sumptuous in hue and light.

Admiring, taking glory in these, yet he required the sting of another man's hand upon her to seize her for himself.

For purposes of policy, for ends which seemed to him good, he could have lived with Jehane as a brother with a sister: one thing provided, Let no other man touch.
Now this policy was imperative, this end God said was good.