She understood then why she would have wanted to surrender herself to a man made manly by toil; she understood how a woman instinctively leaned toward the protection of a man who had used his hands--who had strength and red blood and virility who could fight like the progenitors of the race.

Any toil was splendid that served this end for any man.

It all went back to the survival of the fittest.
And suddenly Carley thought of Morrison.

He could dance and dangle attendance upon her, and amuse her--but how would he have acquitted himself in a moment of peril?
She had her doubts.

Most assuredly he could not have beaten down for her a ruffian like Haze Ruff.