d." But when I recalled Madge in all her beauty,
purity, and helplessness, my cynicism left me, and I, who had enjoyed all
of life's ambitious possibilities, calmly reached the conclusion that it
is sometimes a blessed privilege to be a fool. While I dwelt on thoughts
of Madge, all the latent good within me came uppermost. There is latent
good in every man, though it may remain latent all his life. Good
resolves, pure thoughts, and noble aspirations--new sensations to me, I
blush to confess--bubbled in my heart, and I made a mental prayer, "If
this is folly, may God banish wisdom." What is there, after all is said,
in wisdom, that men should seek it? Has it ever brought happiness to its
possessor? I am an old man at this writing. I have tasted all the cups of
life, and from the fulness of my experience I tell you that the simple
life is the only one wherein happiness is found. When you permit your
heart and your mind to grow complex and wise, you make nooks and crannies
for wretchedness to lodge in. Innocence is Nature's wisdom; knowledge is
man's folly.

An hour before noon our patience was rewarded when we saw the Haddon Hall
coach drive into the courtyard with Dawson on the box. I tried to make
myself believe that I did not wish Lady Crawford were ill. But there is
little profit in too close scrutiny of our deep-seated motives, and in
this case I found no comfort in self-examination. I really did wish that
Aunt Dorothy were ill.

My motive studying, however, was brought to a joyous end when I saw Will
Dawson close the coach door after Madge and Dorothy had alighted.

How wondrously beautiful they were! Had we lived in the days when Olympus
ruled the world, John surely would have had a god for his rival. Dorothy
seemed luminous, so radiant was she with the fire of life. As for Madge,
had I beheld a corona hovering over her head I should have thought it in
all respects a natural and appropriate phenomenon--so fair and saintlike
did she appear to me. Her warm white furs and her clinging gown of soft
light-colored woollen stuff seemed to be a saint's robe, and her dainty
little hat, fashioned with ermine about the edge of the rim--well, that
was the corona, and I was ready to worship.

Dorothy, as befitted her, wore a blaze of harmonious colors and looked
like the spirit of life and youth. I wish I could cease rhapsodizing over
those two girls, but I cannot. You may pass over it as you read, if you do
not like it.