"To show a woman who IS.

I'm afraid, my dear," she continued, "you could only show yourself." "You'd show then the most beautiful specimen conceivable"-- and Voyt addressed himself to Maud.

"But doesn't it prove that life is, against your contention, more interesting than art?
Life you embellish and elevate; but art would find itself able to do nothing with you, and, on such impossible terms, would ruin you." The colour in her faint consciousness gave beauty to her stare.

"'Ruin' me ?" "He means," Mrs.Dyott again indicated, "that you'd ruin 'art.'" "Without on the other hand"-- Voyt seemed to assent--"its giving at all a coherent impression of you." "She wants her romance cheap!" said Mrs.Dyott.
"Oh no--I should be willing to pay for it.

I don't see why the romance--since you give it that name--should be all, as the French inveterately make it, for the women who are bad." "Oh they pay for it!" said Mrs.Dyott.
"DO they ?" "So at least"-- Mrs.Dyott a little corrected herself--"one has gathered (for I don't read your books, you know!) that they're usually shown as doing." Maud wondered, but looking at Voyt, "They're shown often, no doubt, as paying for their badness.