“Not since you have said that,” he answered, opening the sheets.
He read the first chapter, and she did not interrupt him. Occasionally he glanced at her face. It was very grave and thoughtful, and he could not guess what was passing in her mind.
“That is the end of the first chapter,” he said at last. “Do you like it?”
“Go on!” she exclaimed quickly without heeding his question.
George did as he was bidden and read on to the end of what he had brought. Whatever Constance might think of the work, she was evidently anxious to hear it, and this fact at least gave him a little courage. When he had finished, he folded up the sheets quickly and returned them to his pocket, without looking at his companion’s face. He did not dare ask her again for her opinion and he waited for her to speak. But she said nothing and leaned back in her seat, apparently contemplating the trees.
“Would you like to walk a little?” George asked in an unsteady voice. He now took it for granted that she was not pleased.
“Do you want to know what I think of your three chapters?”
“Yes, please,” he answered nervously.
“They are very, very good. They are as much better than anything you have ever done before, as champagne is better than soda-water.”
“Not really!” George exclaimed in genuine and overwhelming surprise. “You are not in earnest?”