infinite variety, or the love of a fool?

"A fool's love is wearin', it is insipid at best, and it turns to vinegar.
Why, sweetened water must turn to vinegar, it is its nater. And if a woman
is bright and true-hearted, she can't help seein' through an injustice. She
may be happy in her own home. Domestic affection, social enjoyments, the
delights of a cultured home and society, and the companionship of the man
she loves and who loves her, will, if she is a true woman, satisfy her own
personal needs and desires, and she would far ruther for her own selfish
happiness rest quietly in that love, that most blessed home.

"But the bright quick intellect that delights you can't help seein' an
injustice, can't help seein' through shams of all kinds, sham sentiment,
sham compliments, sham justice. The tender lovin' nature that blesses your
life can't help feelin' pity for them less blessed than herself. She looks
down through the love-guarded lattice of her home from which your care
would fain bar out all sights of woe and squaler, she looks down and sees
the weary toilers below, the hopeless, the wretched. She sees the steep
hills they have to climb, carryin' their crosses, she sees 'em go down into
the mire, dragged there by the love that should lift 'em up. She would not
be the woman you love if she could restrain her hand from liftin' up the
fallen, wipin' tears from weepin' eyes, speakin' brave words for them that
can't speak for themselves. The very strength of her affection that would
hold you up if you were in trouble or disgrace yearns to help all sorrowin'
hearts.

"Down in your heart you can't help admirin' her for this, we can't help
respectin' the one that advocates the right, the true, even if they are our
conquerors. Wimmen hain't angels; now to be candid, you know they hain't.
They hain't any better than men. Men are considerable likely; and it seems