"I'm afraid you don't quite grasp my meaning," he said with a smile. "It's a difference between varieties, not between species. They are not the same thing."
"I should have remembered," Mrs. Challoner [Transcriber's note: Chudleigh?] replied. "I must own that I'm not a botanist, but one can appreciate the beauty of plants without knowing all about them. Perhaps the same applies to beauty in any form."
"No doubt. Harmonies of outline, and concords of colour make an unconscious appeal, but in Nature's products knowledge adds to admiration. The deeper you probe, the more you reveal, until you come to mysteries beyond our solving." He added with some dryness: "It's often otherwise with man's work; knowledge means disillusion. You see how the trick is done."
"Must it always be a trick?"
"Oh! no; not necessarily. There is a sincerity of effort that leads to lasting and beautiful work, but perhaps it's not common."
"I'm afraid you're a pessimist."
"I wouldn't like to think so, but I have lived a long time and insisted on using my eyes, even when clearsightedness may not have been a benefit. There's a penalty attached to the habit of close observation; one sees things that hurt."
He spoke with dry humour, but his words had their effect on his companion, who was by no means philosophical. When she studied human weaknesses it was with the object of turning them to her advantage, but the shrewd, upright soldier saw them as things to avoid or recognize with scorn. He, however, plucked a bunch of crimson berries which he gave her.
"This," he said, "is in my opinion an exceptionally beautiful bush. Mrs. Keith sent it me from the Tyrol some years ago."
"You are old friends then?"