THE WISDOM OF FATHER BROWN
"I won't keep you long from The Bloody Thumb or any other catastrophic affairs," said Father Brown, smiling. "I only came to ask you about the crime you committed this evening."
Boulnois looked at him steadily, but a red bar began to show across his broad brow; and he seemed like one discovering embarrassment for the first time.
"I know it was a strange crime," assented Brown in a low voice. "Stranger than murder perhaps—to you. The little sins are sometimes harder to confess than the big ones—but that's why it's so important to confess them. Your crime is committed by every fashionable hostess six times a week: and yet you find it stick to your tongue like a nameless atrocity."
"It makes one feel," said the philosopher slowly, "such a damned fool."
"I know," assented the other, "but one often has to choose between feeling a damned fool and being one."
"I can't analyse myself well," went on Boulnois, "but sitting in that chair with that story I was as happy as a schoolboy on a half-holiday. It was security, eternity—I can't convey it … the cigars were within reach … the matches were within reach … the Thumb had four more appearances to … it was not only a peace, but a plentitude. Then that bell rang, and I thought
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