“Wouldst thou give me the newspaper when thou hast read it?” he asked, with something like eagerness in his tone.
“No, no, Hans Peter, I cannot disregard the rules of the colony,” Everett said, carelessly.
“Dost thou not know that the fool cannot be hurt?” asked the simple one. “He hath so little knowledge that he knoweth not folly from wisdom. To him the wicked appear good and the good wicked.”
Everett’s mail was scattered on the table where the simple one had put it. Among the envelopes the man of the world saw one that enclosed a photograph.
“This may be a picture that will interest you,” he said. “Will you pardon me if I open it?” He tore off the envelope, and the photograph of a young and beautiful girl was disclosed. The hair was dressed in rather an elaborate fashion, and the gown was slightly décolleté.
“This is my young cousin Beatrice,” he remarked. “She is one of my favorite relatives. I want you to tell me what you think of her, Walda.”
“It is forbidden in Zanah that we should make the image of anything on earth,” declared Walda, turning her eyes away when Everett held the photograph towards her.
“I beg your pardon,” he said.
The fool had come close to Everett’s chair, and he now looked over the stranger’s shoulder.
“Is she called beautiful?” he asked.