‘Well, water under the bridge is that, miss. She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly. Wood. How I could have been such a fool I’ll never know. Sebastian traveled at seventy, eighty, then one-hundred down the freeway. 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. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. ‘And if you like, I will tell you why.
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