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. “I know that our social order is dreadful enough,” he said, “and sacrifices all that is best and most beautiful in life. “Do you want to ruin me? I shall walk back. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. Half the rooms empty. The Vorsack house bore the stamp of Diane in every visible spot. And, now, to find a messenger. . ” Ann Veronica said something about a general change of ideas.
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