Lawrence grinned complacently.
"I am always amused at the way men speak of beasts as if they were something base," he said. "'Beast' should not be a term of opprobrium. The average dog or elephant, for example, is fairly wholesome and quite naturally proper in his fulfilment of instincts. It is more than one can say for men. Yes, I am a beast, if by that you you mean a physical being; and if humanity ever does get anywhere in quest for a soul I suspect it will have to start from that very admission."
"Of course"—Philip hesitated a little—"we are animals in that sense. But who can think of us as nothing more? Take Claire, for example. We both know her better than any one else. I could scarcely think of her as an animal, subject only to its instincts. Even allowing that she is a very intelligent animal, it isn't all or even the better part of her, any more than it is of any good woman."
The speech was self-revealing, and Lawrence smiled.
"Now, it is strange," he observed; "that is precisely the way I should think of Claire if I wanted to see her in the best possible light, as the most splendidly intelligent, healthy animal I ever knew."
"You are more insulting than you intend. I am glad that you do not mean to be," Philip growled.
"Tra-la-la. I shouldn't insult her for a good deal."
"Yet your attitude is debasing," Philip retorted.
"Oh, well, perhaps. She has my apology if she thinks so."
"But you can't actually mean what you say," Philip went on. "Your attitude would lead you to make a cave of your home, and a mere lair of your bed."