“Why, of course. But the trouble is that one has not wits enough to see it. And all beauty is equal—woman, man, mountain-side, pansy. And probably slug,” he added. “But to appreciate that would require a great deal of insight. But Sir John Lubbock says that earwigs are excellent mothers. That opened my eyes to earwigs.”
Again Madge walked on in silence for a space.
“Are you ever bored?” she asked at length.
“Bored? No. All that anyone has ever made is at one’s disposal to wonder at. And if one can’t do that, one can go and make something oneself. No, I hope I shall have the grace to commit suicide before I am bored.”
Madge stopped and turned to him. That she was being unwise she knew, but something intimate and indwelling dictated to her.
“I am bored every day of my life!” she said. “And how can I avoid it? Is it very stupid of me?”
Evelyn did not hesitate in his reply.
“Yes, very!” he said. “Because it is such a waste of time to be bored. People don’t recollect that.”
They had come opposite the drawing-room window, and as they passed Lady Ellington stepped out on to the terrace.
“Is that you, Madge?” she asked.