He gave an airy gesture with his disengaged hand.
“What would you! Everything is contemptible and worthless, considered from the strictly philosophical standpoint. Civilisations, like men, are only born to die and be forgotten,—we trouble ourselves uselessly in efforts to keep them alive after their appointed span. Certain races attain to a high state of education and then begin to degenerate and hark back to the old roots of savagery—”
“And what do you argue from all this?” she demanded.
“Why, that we should enjoy the present hour as I am doing,” he replied, smiling agreeably. “And repel the symptoms of degeneracy in ourselves and others as forcibly as we can!”
She sighed again, and pausing, withdrew her arm from his.
“Poor, pretty, elfin lady!” he said kindly. “You do not like my way of looking at the world!”
“No! Most certainly not!” she answered, quickly. “If one thought the things you say, one would commit suicide!”
“Oh, no, one wouldn’t!” and he smiled. “Not as long as”—here he looked about him—“not as long as a butterfly exists!”—and he pointed to one just settling on a spray of clematis—“or a pretty woman!”
She moved on without a word, and he felt for his pipe in his pocket. She looked back over her shoulder.
“I am going indoors,” she called. “Do you want anything before I go?”