"Stop a minute, my dear," cried Austin. “It is just a look. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. You and I. 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. And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town. Good-looking girl. I let him take me to the English Embassy, and we went through some sort of a ceremony. I had not seen the courtyard in many years and I was happy to dream of those times.
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