I was by her instantly. She slipped the quarto from her knee, and took my offered hand.
“Are you fond of old books?” I said, not having anything better to say.
“Some old books,” she answered.
“May I ask what book you were reading?”
“I will answer you—under protest,” she said, with a smile.
“I withdraw the question at once,” I returned.
“I will answer it notwithstanding. It is a volume of Jacob Behmen.”
“Do you understand him?”
“Yes. Don’t you?”
“Well, I have made but little attempt,” I answered. “Indeed, it was only as I passed through London last that I bought his works; and I am sorry to find that one of the plates is missing from my copy.”