THE GOLDEN BOWL
"It isn't a question of any beauty," said Maggie; "it's only a question of the quantity of truth."
"Oh the quantity of truth!" the Prince richly though ambiguously murmured.
"That's a thing by itself, yes. But there are also such things all the same as questions of good faith."
"Of course there are!" the Prince hastened to reply. After which he brought up more slowly: "If ever a man since the beginning of time acted in good faith—!" But he dropped it, offering it simply for that.
For that then when it had had time somewhat to settle like some handful of gold-dust thrown into the air, for that then Maggie showed herself as deeply and strangely taking it. "I see." And she even wished this form to be as complete as she could make it. "I see."
The completeness had clearly after an instant struck him as divine. "Ah my dear, my dear, my dear—!" It was all he could say.
She wasn't talking however at large. "You've kept up for so long a silence—!"
"Yes, yes, I know what I've kept up. But will you do," he asked, "still one thing more for me?"
It was as if for an instant it had with her new exposure made her turn pale. "Is there even one thing left?"
"Ah my dear, my dear, my dear!"—it had pressed again in him the fine spring of the unspeakable.
There was nothing however that the Princess herself couldn't say. "I'll do anything if you'll tell me what."
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