“My favorite when I read Shakespeare,” he said. “I don’t know why, but I have read it over and over. At the moment when I heard you calling, I was reading Bassanio’s raptures on finding Portia’s portrait in the leaden casket.”
Leaning forward a bit and looking steadily at her, he quoted:
“‘Here are sever’d lips,
Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs
The painter plays the spider and hath woven
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men.’”
His voice was low and soft, yet full and deep. Again her eyes drooped before his. One shapely white hand toyed with a loose bit of bark.
“You quote well,” she said, compelling herself to speak calmly, almost carelessly. “You should be a teacher of elocution.”
“The task would be agreeable indeed,” he returned, “if I could choose my pupil.”