“... soft and purple mist
Like a vaporous amethyst,
... red and golden vines
Piercing with their trellised lines
The rough dark-skirted wilderness.
“Vaporous amethyst!” he murmured, sentimentally. “Gaseous spirit of jewel! Ah, Mrs. Mink! Lyric poetry, is it not a religion?”
Mrs. Mink shook her head.
“You see a distinction. You are right. You would say, in the worship of beauty the ethical element is too subsidiary. You would point out the lack of rigidity and purpose.”
Mrs. Mink did not commit herself. We watched the smoke of a steamer coming toward us from the east.
“I see the deep's untrampled floor!” murmured Dr. Ulswater.