“I confess it. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. Sydney sprang up. 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. All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. What he told the vicomte I was not privileged to learn. They were familiar but more massive. ” “What?” “That’s the devil of it!” “Devil of what?.
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