'A wise man would be at a loss here,' said James, casting his eye along the battered purple backs of the circulating-library books.
'Wisdom won't condescend! Ah! thank you, this will do nicely. Those colours—yes; and the Seaside Book. I'll choose one or two. What is most popular here?'
James began to whistle; but Louis, taking up a volume, became engrossed beyond the power of hints, and hardly stepped aside to make way for some ladies who entered the shop. A peremptory touch of the arm at length roused him, and holding up the book to the shopman, he put it into his pocket, seized his ash-stick, put his arm into his cousin's, and hastened into the street.
'Did you ever see—' began Jem.
'Most striking. I did not know you had met with her. What an idea—the false self conjuring up phantoms—'
'What are you talking of? Did you not see her?'
'Elizabeth Barrett. Was she there?'
'Is that her name? Do you know her?'
'I had heard of her, but never—'
'How?—where? Who is she?'