“His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. ’ Mrs Sindlesham’s lips twitched. She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. 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. We aren’t worth it.
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