She tested the limits to see how far 79 she could go, often running away for the day, causing him to fret and pace. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. 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. “Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed.
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