“Then you’re satisfied with her?” the caller suggested. “Satisfied? My dear woman, there are times when I’m afraid I’ll be unable to satisfy her! That sounds strange, doesn’t it? But the girl’s faith in every one and everything is so absolute and her ideals so quaint that I almost fear to have her grow further. I try to tell her, to pave the way for disillusion, but I don’t seem to get results. She looks at me so hurt and incredulous that I feel as though I were defiling Eden.” This incredulity of Madelaine’s worried her mother far more than the latter cared to admit. Likewise the girl’s instinctive estheticism and reserve. One summer evening, as they strolled the length of Sumner Avenue, Mrs. Theddon expounded her philosophy of life for the first time aggressively, to her daughter. “Madelaine, dear,” she declared, “I want you to think of this world and look upon life as a long, long, series of interesting and constructive experiences. All of them may not be pleasant. But always they must be constructive. Whether you make them interesting depends entirely upon yourself, your capacity for participation in them.” “Participation!” repeated the girl. “What do you mean by participation?” “I mean plunging in and enjoying them for all they’re worth, taking part in everything—your own accorded part—to the utmost, regardless of how small that part may be. Don’t shrink from anything. Never be that most distressing and unfinished product—a “wallflower” or spectator. Plunge in—taste, feel, enjoy, laugh and love. Be in the center of things, never on the edge. Of course, I don’t meant perverted things, activities or pursuits that offend decency or violate self-respect. And there is never excuse for stirring a sewer, in order to prove it’s foul.” “I understand, mother dear.”