“Poetry be damned,” said W.G. seriously, “there’s a good deal too much of your poetry about it. Poetry and mystery and a lot of bunkum like that . . . Male and female created He them. I don’t particularly admire the method. I think He made rather a better job of the amoeba. Think how much simpler it would be to split open a chunk of protoplasm instead of having to make a ridiculous fool of yourself if you want to propagate your species. Still, there it is, and the sooner you realise exactly what it means and what it’s all about, the less you worry your head about it.” “Well, of course, if you’re going to treat it in that light you’re going to knock all the pleasure out of life—” Maskew protested. “Oh, you’re a sensualist,” said W.G. “The main thing that I have against it is that it wastes valuable time.” He became scornful. “Think of all these rotten fellows who spend their days writing books on sexual problems, analysing their rotten little sensations in detail and gloating over mysteries of sex. It’s only their ignorance that makes them like that. What they want is a thorough course of anatomy and a whack of practical experience to cure them; and if every one else had the same sort of education there’d be no sale for their books.” Edwin, listening to their sparring, remembered the library at St. Luke’s and a certain shelf of anatomical works that was always kept locked with a special key that Mr. Leeming carried mysteriously on his watch-chain. On the whole, he agreed with W.G. and his preferences for the methods of the Amoeba’s parthenogenesis. He wondered, however, if the kind of education that W.G. advocated would have scotched the production of such works as _Romeo and Juliet_ or the love poems of Shelley. “It would be rather rotten if you did away with love, W.G.,” he said. “Oh, I’m not talking about love,” said W.G. “I’m talking about a fellow’s ordinary physical needs. Being in love is not the same thing as that.” “It is usually,” said the cynical Maskew. “It’s all a ridiculous mix-up,” said Edwin. “Thank God it doesn’t worry us.” II