or that matter, its
majesty of mystery and of potentiality--mystery of its living mechanism,
potentiality of its position as a source of ever-ascending forms of life.
From the protoplasmal cell descends the genius; from the loins of the
sodden toiler chained to the soil springs the mother of genius or genius
itself. And where little people were bored and isolated, Dory Hargrave
could without effort pass the barriers to any human heart, could enter in
and sit at its inmost hearth, a welcome guest. He never intruded; he
never misunderstood; he never caused the slightest uneasiness lest he
should go away to sneer or to despise. Even old John Skeffington was
confidential with him, and would have been friendly had not Dory avoided
him.

Adelaide soon fell under the spell of this genius of his for inspiring
confidence. She had not fully disclosed her plans to herself; she
hesitated at letting herself see what her fury against Theresa and Ross
had goaded her on to resolve. So she had no difficulty in persuading
herself that she had probably sent for Dory chiefly to consult with him.
"There's something I want to talk over with you," said she; "but wait
till after din--supper. Have you and Artie been playing tennis?"

"No, he found me at home. Estelle Wilmot and I were playing with a
microscope."

"Estelle--she has treated me shamefully," said Adelaide. "I haven't seen
her for more than a year--except just a glimpse as I was driving down
Monroe Street one day. How beautiful she has become! But, then, she
always was pretty. And neither her father nor her mother, nor any of the
rest of the family is especially good-looking. She doesn't in the least
resemble them."

"There probably was a time when her father and mother really loved," said
Dory. "I've often thought that when one sees a beautiful man or woman,
one is seeing the monument to some moment of supreme, perfect happiness.
There are hours when even the meanest creatures see the islands of
enchantment floating in the opal sea."

Adelaide was gazing dreamily into the sunset. It was some time before she
came back, dropped from the impersonal to the personal, which is the
normal attitude of most young people and of all the self-absorbed.
Simeon, who had been inspecting Dory from the far upper end of the
hammock, now descended to the floor of the veranda, and slowly advanced
toward him. Dory put out his hand. "How are you, cousin?" he said,
gravely shaking Simeon's extended