"But, Dad," said Lewis, "I thought all American women were beautiful."

"So they are," said Leighton, with a laugh. "When you stop believing
that, you stop being an American. All American women are beautiful--some
outside, and the rest inside."

"Why don't you take me to the States?" asked Lewis.

Leighton turned around.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty," said Lewis.

"I'll take you," said Leighton, "when you are old enough to see the
States. It takes a certain amount of philosophy nowadays to understand
your country--and mine. Of all the nations in the world, we Americans
see ourselves least as others see us. We have a national vanity that
keeps us from studying a looking-glass. That's a paradox," said
Leighton, smiling at Lewis's puzzled look. "A paradox," he continued,
"is a verity the unpleasant truth of which is veiled."

"Anyway, I should like to go to the States," said Lewis.

"Just now," said Leighton, "our country is traveling the universal road
of commercialism, but it's traveling fast. When it gets to the end of
the road, it will be an interesting country."