" "May be," returned the man gravely. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. Living’s just material. 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. He never felt any need to explain himself. He walked unsteadily towards the door. It’s that father of yours you take after, no question. You went even to our rooms and saw my sister. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily.
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