How we cite our quotes: (Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #7
"Isn't he sympathetic?" asked Mrs. Wix, who had clearly, on the strength of his charming portrait, made up her mind that Sir Claude promised her a future. "You can see, I hope," she added with much expression, "that he's a perfect gentleman!" Maisie had never before heard the word "sympathetic" applied to anybody's face; she heard it with pleasure and from that moment it agreeably remained with her. (XI.20)
Another awesome thing about innocence is it gives great pleasure. Maisie isn't just happy about the fact that Mrs. Wix thinks that Sir Claude is sympathetic. She's happy with the word "sympathetic" being used to describe a person's appearance.
Quote #8
Full of charm at any rate was the prospect of some day getting Sir Claude in; especially after Mrs. Wix, as the fruit of more midnight colloquies, once went so far as to observe that she really believed it was all that was wanted to save him. This critic, with these words, struck her disciple as cropping up, after the manner of mamma when mamma talked, quite in a new place. The child stared as at the jump of a kangaroo. "Save him from what?"
Mrs. Wix debated, then covered a still greater distance. "Why just from awful misery." (XI.20-22)
Of course, innocence has its downsides. Maisie is shocked when she realizes that the saintly Mrs. Wix sounds like her horrible mother. This comparison comes up because Mrs. Wix is talking "after the manner of mamma when mamma talked," which probably means that Maisie is picking up on Mrs. Wix's attraction to Sir Claude.
Quote #9
"You'll never know what I've been through about you—never, never, never. I spare you everything, as I always have; though I daresay you know things that … would make me—well, no matter! You're old enough at any rate to know there are a lot of things I don't say that I easily might; though it would do me good, I assure you, to have spoken my mind for once in my life." (XXI.2)
This passage illustrates why it's so difficult for Maisie to preserve her innocence—and so remarkable that she does. Maisie's mother, Ida, is speaking here, and she's telling lies, both to herself, it seems, and to Maisie. The truth is that she hasn't spared her daughter anything at all but only burdened her with lies and insults and guilt and shame. This is why Ida's departure from the novel is more of a relief than a tragedy: to the end, Ida is mean as can be. And that Maisie manages to fall far from that tree means that she's one of a kind.