She found herself asking more and more curiously, “Why, on the principle of the survival of the fittest, have I any sense of beauty at all?” That enabled her to go on thinking about beauty when it seemed to her right that she should be thinking about biology. "Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading. Courtlaw,” she remarked. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. Secretly she was gratified to be assigned to the rôle of an old traveller. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God.
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