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.