He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. ’ She eyed him. Spurling had retired for the night. The new and the old cancelled out; his daughters became quasi-independent dependents—which is absurd. He then arose, and, taking a few turns in the chamber, stopped suddenly before her. “Just look that through, will you. ” “Perhaps not in a general way,” he answered calmly. And, turning to his daughter, he gave the necessary directions in a low tone. 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. She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner.
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