White gasped, and then stiffened. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. ‘I hope I do not understand you. 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. He pulled her from him to kiss her on the mouth and paused, looking into her face. He would stare at her intensely when he was certain his parents were not looking in his direction.
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