” “Why?” she asked. “With me I believe that it is more. She was always asking questions about her mother and supplying the answers. It had been her home for hundreds of years. Was it that the struggle of things to survive produced as a sort of necessary byproduct these intense preferences and appreciations, or was it that some mystical outer thing, some great force, drove life beautyward, even in spite of expediency, regardless of survival value and all the manifest discretions of life? She went to Capes with that riddle and put it to him very carefully and clearly, and he talked well—he always talked at some length when she took a difficulty to him—and sent her to a various literature upon the markings of butterflies, the incomprehensible elaboration and splendor of birds of Paradise and hummingbirds’ plumes, the patterning of tigers, and a leopard’s spots. A door slammed. . “Oh, John, please!” “You are already leaving me. “But I’m afraid you are going to be in a hopeless minority here as regards me. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence.
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