"It was that song that put it into my head to cut my name on the beam. Said Prudence, with commendable human kindness: "My sister and I are going on to Shanghai and Peking. I'm no great judge of these articles, Ma'am; but I trust to your honour not to palm off paste upon me. ‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. 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. D.
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