Near the door stood a pile of deal planks, behind which the carpenter ensconced himself in order to reconnoitre, unobserved, the proceedings of his idle apprentice. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. 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. “Curious case,” said Ogilvy, buttering his bread and cutting it up in a way he had.
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