And listen, John. ‘She is a maid only, and I do not believe she has married Emile. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. I am up to the ears in it all— every moment I can spare. And it’s no use thinking he’d stop her. 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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