I was feeling blithe, almost jocund. I put a match to my cigar, and just then the morning’s mail was han­ded in. The first superscription I glanced at was in a handwriting that sent a thrill of pleasure through and through me. It was Aunt Mary’s and she was the per­son I loved and honored most in all the world, outside of my own household. She had been my boyhood’s idol maturity, which is fatal to so many enchantments, had not been able to dislodge her from her pedestal no, it had only justified her right to be there, and placed her dethronement permanently among the impossibilities...