One day they were at tea in the laboratory and a discussion sprang up about the question of women’s suffrage. Posts were offered to all who chose to accept them. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. 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. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. The boy was right. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. "Do better in future.
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