You want to do right so much that the dust of virtue gets into your eyes of love and blinds them.

I should come first with you, before your aunt Sylvia, and your own truth and happiness should come first; but you wanted to lay them all at her feet--or, rather, at the feet of your conscience." "I only wanted to do what was right," Rose sobbed again.
"I know you did, dear." Horace put his arm around Rose.

He drew her to a chair, sat down, and took her on his knee.

He looked at her almost comically, in return for her glance of piteous appeal.
"Don't laugh at me," she whispered.
Horace kissed her.

"I am not laughing at you, but at the eternal feminine, dear," he said.