"Do you wish me to look at them now?"
"If you will."
He put out a shaking hand. He would have thought long before exchanging this experience for a year of the opportunities of a Boswell.
Thomasina took up a book; then she walked into her garden; then she crossed the hall, closing both doors behind her, and practiced finger exercises in her music room. The light, delicate arpeggios and runs and trills came faintly to Dr. Scott's enchanted ears. Thus had Thomasina quieted her soul a thousand times.
When she returned there remained but one letter in the little box. Dr. Scott was not reading; he sat staring at the floor. It seemed to him that he had helped to open the tomb of a Queen Ta, that he had touched the jewels with which the hands of love had decked her. Then he looked up. Thomasina regarded him; alive, breathing, lovely, she was not in the least like Queen Ta. He felt that he must speak, but his eloquence, slow, but equal to every occasion, failed him now.
"If you will tell me what passages you wish to use, I shall copy them for you."
"May I say that they were written to you?"
An inward light illumined Thomasina's face. It was not pride, it was an emotion more intense, more exalted.
"You have been honored above most women," said Dr. Scott.