Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. ’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. “I want to be your friend,” he said. “Even if he lives here you may go all your life and never come face to face with him again. I am five-and-thirty, and I have knocked about in the world and tasted the quality of life. 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.
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