Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. 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. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, these two must epitomise it. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. "What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth.
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