. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. And she, she in her own person too, was this eternal Bios, beginning again its recurrent journey to selection and multiplication and failure or survival. “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, these two must epitomise it.
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