You don't mean to tell me that any literature that pretends to call itself artistic has a right to touch them." By this time they had absolutely forgotten that up to twenty minutes ago they had never seen each other before.
Already they had mutely and unconsciously begun to rejoice that they had come together; already each of them promised herself the exploration of the other's nature, with the preliminary idea that it would be a satisfying, at least an interesting process.

The impulse made Elfrida almost natural, and Janet perceived this with quick self-congratulation.

Already she had made up her mind that this manner was a pretty mask which it would be her business to remove.
"But--but you're not in it!" Elfrida returned.

"Pardon me, but you're not _there_, you know.

Art has no ideal but truth, and to conventionalize truth is to damn it In the most commonplace material there is always truth, but here they conventionalize it out of all--" "Oh," cried Janet, "we're a conventional people, I assure you, Miss Bell, and so are you, for how could you change your spots in a hundred years?
The material here is conventional.