But the universe, from the humblest blade of grass to the infinite essence of God, exists because of that warmth which the mawkish world contemns.

Is the iron immodest when it creeps to the lodestone and clings to its side?
Is the hen bird brazen when she flutters to her mate responsive to his compelling woo-song?
Is the seed immodest when it sinks into the ground and swells with budding life?
Is the cloud bold when it softens into rain and falls to earth because it has no other choice?
or is it brazen when it nestles for a time on the bosom of heaven's arched dome and sinking into the fathomless depths of a blue black infinity ceases to be itself?
Is the human soul immodest when, drawn by a force it cannot resist, it seeks a stronger soul which absorbs its ego as the blue sky absorbs the floating cloud, as the warm earth swells the seed, as the magnet draws the iron?
All these are of one quality.

The iron, the seed, the cloud, and the soul of man are _what_ they are, do _what_ they do, love as they love, live as they live, and die as they die because they must--because they have no other choice.

We think we are free because at times we act as we please, forgetting that God gives us the "please," and that every act of our being is but the result of a dictated motive.
Dorothy was not immodest.

This was her case.