He knew Miss Blaythwaite slightly, having met her in former days at her father's house, when he used to delight in looking over his famous library. The pity of it all was that the missal was to be in the keeping of a woman. If it had gone to some collector who would treasure it as a delectable gift of the gods, it would not be so bad. But to a woman! The thought almost drove him mad.
One evening, in despair, he resolved to call at the fine old house, and glance once more at the lovely picture of Abelard imprinting his last kiss upon the lips of Heloise.
He felt some misgivings, when he was told that Miss Blaythwaite was at home and would see him. He almost hated her, and he could not forbear the thought that the Abelard missal was no more to her than her pet dog, or the bracelet upon her fair wrist.
When she entered the room, he was taken aback. When he saw her some years ago, she was but a slip of a girl, with long hair down her back. She was now tall and stately, with beautiful deep blue eyes. She was dressed simply; and Hooker thought exceedingly well, but he was not a judge. He knew more about the morocco covering of an old book than a lady's apparel.
"Good evening, Mr. Hooker. I'm glad you called," she said.
"Thank you, Miss Blaythwaite. It's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of seeing you."
"Yes, you've rather neglected us lately. Are you still interested in books? Poor father had quite a mania for them."
"That's what first brought me to the house. Do you remember how we used to spend hours going over his books?"
"Hours? It seemed ages to mother and me. Poor mother, how furious she used to be when father brought those dusty old books into the house. She used to say that father threw away his money on them. He'd give a hundred dollars for a shabby old thing, when he could have bought a nice, modern edition for five."
At this, Robert Hooker was speechless!