There was always that in the peculiar mind of Godolphin which was inclined
towards ideas too refined and subtle even for persons of cultivated
intellect. If Constance could scarcely comprehend the tone of his
character, we may believe that to Lucilla he was wholly a mystery. This,
perhaps, enhanced her love, but the consciousness of it disappointed his.
He felt that what he considered the noblest faculties he possessed were
unappreciated. He was sometimes angry with Lucilla that she loved only
those qualities in his character which he shared with the rest of mankind.
His speculative and Hamlet-like temper--(let us here take Goethe's view of
Hamlet, and combine a certain weakness with finer traits of the royal
dreamer)--perpetually deserted the solid world, and flew to aerial
creations. He could not appreciate the present. Had Godolphin loved
Lucilla as he once thought that he should love her, the beauties of her
character would have blinded him to its defects; but its passion had been
too sudden to be thoroughly grounded. It had arisen from the knowledge of
her affection---not grown step by step from the natural bias of his own.
Between the interval of liking and possession, love (to be durable) should
pass through many stages. The doubt, the fear, the first pressure of the
hand, the first kiss, each should be an epoch for remembrance to cling to.
In moments of after coolness or anger, the mind should fly from the sated
present to the million tender and freshening associations of the past.
With these associations the affection renews its youth. How vast a store
of melting reflections, how countless an accumulation of the spells that
preserve constancy, does that love forfeit, in which the memory only
commences with possession!

And the more delicate and thoughtful our nature, the more powerful are
these associations. Do they not constitute the immense difference between
the love and the intrigue? All things that savour of youth make our most