Mellen patiently collected the scattered pack and laid it away, trying to think of some other means of relieving her ennui.
"Shall I read to you?" he asked.
"I don't believe I could listen," she said, tossing her head wearily about. "I don't know—just try."
There was a pile of new novels and magazines on the table in the centre of the room, for Elsie always kept herself liberally supplied with these sources of distraction, though it must be confessed that she generally carried the recreation to an extreme, reading her romance to the exclusion of more solid studies, just as she preferred nibbling bon-bons, to eating substantial food.
"There certainly is opportunity for a choice," Mellen said, glancing at the pile. "What book will you choose?"
"Oh, bring a magazine; read me some short story."
Mellen seated himself, opened the periodical and commenced reading the first tale he lighted upon. It was a story by a popular author, beginning in a light, pleasant way, and promising the amusement his listener needed. But as the little romance went on it deepened into a pathetic tragedy. It was an account of a noble-born Sicilian woman who, during the Revolution, endured, silently, every species of suffering, at last death itself, rather than betray her husband to his enemies, yet the husband had bitterly wronged her and half-broken her heart during their married life.
Elsie did not listen at first, but as the story went on her thoughts became so painful that she tried to fasten her attention upon the reading. When she began to take notice Mellen was just in the midst of the account of this Sicilian woman's martyrdom in prison, bearing up with such serene patience, faithful to her vow, firm in her determination to save the man who had injured her.
Elsie fairly snatched the volume from his hand.
"Don't read it!" she exclaimed. "What made you choose such a doleful thing; it makes my flesh creep."