I took your face home with me--forgive my presumption, madam--and I produced this faint adumbration, which I expose with diffidence." So then he took the green baize off.
The color rushed into her face; she was evidently gratified.

Poor, silly Mrs.Triplet was doomed to be right about this portrait.
"I will give you a sitting," said she.

"You will find painting dull faces a better trade than writing dull tragedies.

Work for other people's vanity, not your own; that is the art of art.

And now I want Mr.Triplet's address." "On the fly-leaf of each work, madam," replied that florid author, "and also at the foot of every page which contains a particularly brilliant passage, I have been careful to insert the address of James Triplet, painter, actor, and dramatist, and Mrs.Woffington's humble, devoted servant." He bowed ridiculously low, and moved toward the door; but something gushed across his heart, and he returned with long strides to her.