'Oh yes, Ivanhoe,' she repeated carefully after me. Evidently, as in the case of Don Quixote, she had been uncertain how to pronounce the title.
'And these?' I pointed, one by one, to some modern novels. 'Don't you like any of these?' Already I began to be alarmed at the extent of her reading.
'Yes, I like some of them—pretty well.'
'Why do you like Don Quixote and Ivanhoe better?'
She considered for a long time, her blue eyes fixed thoughtfully on the shelves.
'I think I feel more as if they'd really happened.'
'But when you were reading Armadale, didn't you feel as if that had happened?'
'Oh yes,' with a flash of excitement. 'One night I couldn't sleep, because I thought of it so much.'
'Then you thought as much about it as about Ivanhoe?'
'Ye-es, but——' A pause. 'I thought about Ivanhoe because I wanted to, and I thought about Armadale because I couldn't help it.'