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. Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. "I beg pardon," he said. “I’m not that beautiful. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. ” She grinned.
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