"You mean what horrible truths exist," he answered, quietly.
"Could a man be won so? Yes, I suppose he might be if there were a combination."
"Exactly," said Artois.
"I see now. Suppose a man had two strains in him, say: the adoration of beauty, of the physical; and the adoration of talent, of the mental. He might fall in love with a merely beautiful woman and transfer his affections if he came across an equally beautiful woman who had some great talent."
"Or he might fall in love with a plain, talented woman, and be taken from her by one in whom talent was allied with beauty. But in either case are you sure that the woman deserted could never be jealous, bitterly jealous, of the talent possessed by the other woman? I think talent often creates jealousy in your sex."
"But beauty much oftener, oh, much! Every woman, I feel sure, could more easily be jealous of physical beauty in another woman than of mental gifts. There's something so personal in beauty."
"And is genius not equally personal?"
"I suppose it is, but I doubt if it seems so."
"I think you leave out of account the advance of civilization, which is greatly changing men and women in our day. The tragedies of the mind are increasing."
"And the tragedies of the heart—are they diminishing in consequence? Oh, Emile!" And she laughed.