You've probably got a goody little conscience, so white and soft that you'd die of shame to have people see it." "Excuse me, Lady Macbeth," he said, laughing; "I don't wish to underrate your powers of depravity, but which of your soul-destroying sins would you prefer to forget, if indeed any of them are shocking enough to trouble your excessively hardened conscience?
"Well, I must admit," said Madeline, seriously, "that I wouldn't care to forget anything I've done, not even my faults and follies.

I should be afraid if they were taken away that I shouldn't have any character left." "Don't put it on that ground," said Henry, "it's sheer vanity that makes you say so.

You know your faults are just big enough to be beauty-spots, and that's why you'd rather keep 'em." She reflected a moment, and then said, decisively-- "That's a compliment.

I don't believe I like 'em from you.

Don't make me any more." Perhaps she did not take the trouble to analyse the sentiment that prompted her words.