E. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. She treaded down the hall swiftly but stopped abruptly when she heard a voice in back of her. His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. When he saw, his roars could be heard across the lagoon. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. The distinction lay chiefly in the right to pat their heads. My father thought the latter. 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. The rest she meant to keep for her immediate necessities.
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